


No Colors In Our Skin

by JTHM_Michi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Abusive Sheev Palpatine, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Forced Feminization, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Other, Politics, Transgender Anakin Skywalker, mentioned sexual abuse, not between anidala
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-01-05 14:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JTHM_Michi/pseuds/JTHM_Michi
Summary: Anakin grew up knowing that his masters called him the wrong words. They all called him “girl” or “girl-child” and it was just another way for them to dehumanize him. He didn’t know that, of course, not in those words, but it was true enough. His mother was always very clear with him, from the first time he came to her and asked her if she knew which master had taken his “boy parts”, that just because his masters called him a girl didn’t make him one.a.k.a. the Transgender Anakin Skywalker Verse





	1. The Black and the Blue

Anakin grew up knowing that his masters called him the wrong words. They all called him “girl” or “girl-child” and it was just another way for them to dehumanize him. He didn’t know that, of course, not in those words, but it was true enough. His mother was always very clear with him, from the first time he came to her and asked her if she knew which master had taken his “boy parts”, that just because his masters called him a girl didn’t make him one.

So, when Qui-Gon Jinn comes to Tatooine and stumbles upon them, he takes it at face value when Shmi Skywalker says her son was meant to help him, meant for bigger things than being a slave on some dust ball of a planet. He heard Watto call Anakin “girl” but put it up to the fact that little Ani Skywalker had a girlish charm to him at that age and didn’t mention it. Honestly, he didn’t even consider Anakin’s gender, just the circumstances of his birth and his obvious strength in the Force.

After all, the prophecy never said that the Chosen One was boy or girl, just that they’d be born from the force and be a lynchpin.

So, when he takes Anakin Skywalker to the Jedi, he presents to them a young man that is the Chosen One. The Council doesn’t care about Anakin’s gender, just his age, his out of control emotions, and the shadows clinging to his future.

They take him anyway because Obi-Wan insists and he just killed a Sith, so they grant him this boon. If they were less concerned about their own hurt prides, their own fears, their own arrogance, they would have insisted that Anakin Skywalker get a full physical when he is accepted as a padawan. Instead, they insist on him getting his vaccinations and then leave it up to Obi-Wan to do what he will with this ticking time bomb in their midst.

Obi-Wan doesn’t particularly like the healers and Anakin has only known medical care from two sources - his mother and his masters. Medical care when not given by his mother means something that can be held over his mother’s head, means people talking about him as if he’s a broken spanner or bent piece of metal, means strange adults prodding him and sometimes touching him too hard.

Needless to say, he doesn’t go to the healers unless he absolutely needs to and he never lets them see him without his clothes on. They don’t have any reason to insist on a full physical, so they put him down as a cis male and Anakin is overjoyed. Finally, masters that address him properly! The Jedi really _are_ better than anything he’s ever known.

His mother had told him about the facts of life early, as she had no choice. He had to know everything she could teach him as soon as possible, just in case they got sold separately. He had to know his history as soon as he could learn about secrets, had to know about sex as soon as he had questions about it, had to know about everything she could teach him as fast as possible. It was rare for families to stay under the same master and auction season was always just around the corner.

She had taken him with her into the wastes when she had her bleeding, teaching him how to clean the clothes with sand and telling him how to read his body’s signs for infection, for pregnancy, for anything wrong. So, when he starts to bleed, he knows what’s happening to him. He knows that it’s his body’s way of signaling to him that it’s growing with him, that it’s time to be extra careful around strangers. He deals with it and Obi-Wan never finds out.

(He makes his first big creation since Threepio in the early morning after his first blood. He scavenges among broken mouse droids, obsolete cleaning droids, and makes his own sheet cleaner. It’s a small machine that he keeps tucked away under his bed and all it takes is filling it up with water from the fresher and it can get bloodstains out of his sheets without him having to send them down the laundry shoots and possibly get them traced back to him. It gets used a lot.)

He never tells the Jedi that he’s not a cis male, they find that out on their own.

* * *

 

He’s never gotten cramps during his bleeding. He’s very thankful that he takes after the rest of the childbearing members of his clan in that, because he’s read about how they can be debilitating. He also knows that every month Padawan Alpmet ends up lying in the chambers of healing, drugged up and wrapped around various hot stones due to her cramps. (He knows because they started their bleeding around the same time. He had gotten censured that month and was doing bedpan duty as punishment when Padawan Alpmet’s master had run in with her curled in his arms, sobbing and projecting her pain. When the older Master had laid her down and gone off to speak with the healers, Anakin had come over to try to ease the girl’s pain. There was blood, but Anakin was used to that, and by the time the healers had come back with a cocktail that would help, Anakin had managed to get the poor girl to stop projecting so badly.)

So, when he’s in the chambers of healing waiting for Master Tipply to be available to heal the reckless Initiate that he had dragged in with burn marks up and down her arms, he doesn’t think it’s _his_ pain he’s feeling at first. He figures it’s probably just someone in the chambers feeling residual pain from their injuries and continues to lecture the young one in front of him about the wonders of protective gear when welding because _fire, shockingly, hurts! Out of all the stupid things I’ve ever heard of, why in the name of everything holy wouldn’t you also steal gloves and leathers with the welder?!_

By the time Master Tipply has come over and he’s told her that he caught the initiate welding without proper protective gear – thus the burn marks – his abdomen feels like he’s been speared with a metal pike. Or perhaps like he's swallowed acid and it’s somehow managed to bypass his esophagus before starting to burn from the inside.

But he spots Alpmet and figures she’s just projecting. Sure, he’s bleeding right now, but he’s never had cramps before so why would he start them now? He tries to push the pain out of his body and into the force and manages to get rid of most of the stabbing pain.

It isn’t until he’s waiting for the Chancellor to finish up his meeting in the Senate building that it clicks that he isn’t just feeling some random person’s stomach pain. He’s trying to figure out why he’s suddenly experiencing such painful cramps when before he’s just had normal bleeding when the Chancellor invites him into his office. He’s not sure what the beginning of their conversation consists of, so consumed by the steady building of pain, but he does remember the mortification when the pain became too much and he started to _cry_.

He remembers the way that the Chancellor had stopped mid word, clearly taken aback, before he had come over to try and comfort Anakin. He remembers the feel of Palpatine’s hand on his leg, the way he’d reached for it and almost crushed it in his own, crying and gasping out that _it hurt_.

It turns out for the better because he’s taken to the nearest medcenter, which means he’s seen to by a doctor not within the order. A doctor who, of course, realizes that he’s not a cis male and also catches the fact that he had a tumor in his uterus; the tumor is quickly gotten rid of and then he has a primary doctor who was in the know about his body and all its oddities, from his seizures to his need for various medications and hormones.  The Chancellor at first puts him on his own healthcare plan and all he asks in return is a few favors here and there, a few more dinners and lunches to see him, things that Anakin would have been perfectly alright giving anyway.

When Anakin reaches eighteen he officially becomes too old to be on Sheev’s personal plan. He helps Anakin find his own, helps him set up the bank account to pay for it, and doesn’t ask any questions about where the money that fills it comes from. Not all the racing Anakin had done to get it was strictly legal, but most of the side jobs he worked on were. It’s nice to have someone older than him to help out with this, he doesn’t think Obi-Wan would even know what half of the forms _were_ much less how to fill them out if he tried to ask him for help. One of the drawbacks to being raised within the temple, Anakin supposed, was that you were naturally ignorant about the simple realities of everyday civilian life.

(The money was supposed to be for his mother. He had been trying to think of a way to get it to her for years, but Sheev was right – you did what you could in the now, so that you could do better things in the future. What use was the money hidden away when Anakin needed it for himself right now? How could he go back to help anyone if he didn’t first help himself?

What if he went back and his mother took one look at his wrong, misshapen body and dismissed him?)

The first time Sheev ever gifts him a formal gown is...complicated. Anakin doesn’t want to wear it but the Chancellor explains that it’s to better get Anakin into a playhouse so he can help Sheev track down a criminal.

(“Just our little secret, Ani, no one can know that I have to resort to underhand means to stop crime when Judical is overwhelmed.” Palpatine says and he’s petting Anakin’s hair. The gown is light and sparkles in the well-lit room, a deep red color. It hugs his hips and he’s never been more thankful to not have a large chest before because this dress would show them off if he did.)

(He’s sixteen and knows that you don’t always get to choose what you wear on missions. This is just like that, right?)

Sheev Palpatine is his closest friend, his dear mentor, and he knows more about Anakin Skywalker than anyone else in the entire galaxy.

Anakin is seventeen when Palpatine gifts him another gown, this one a light gold with a long slit up the side to show off his legs. It has an open back and Palpatine is the one who zips him up, even though Anakin tells him it would be no trouble for him to do it himself. The dress has a sweeping neckline and Anakin doesn’t like how it makes his chest look.

“You look ravishing, my dear. I need you to act like you can’t understand Basic, okay? We’re going after a Senator that is, I'm fairly sure, embezzling his campaign funds.” Palpatine explains and Anakin nods. He spends the majority of the night cuddled against Sheev’s side, smiling whenever anyone attempts to talk to him, and Palpatine’s hand on his hip is warm and comforting. A few times, entirely by accident Anakin’s sure, the older man’s fingers graze the flesh under the slit on the side of the dress.

When the war starts, Anakin figures that he won’t have to wear any dresses like that again. He’s wrong.

(He sometimes has an awful nightmare about a diplomatic mission that he was assigned to, early in the war. He remembers the actual event; he had been assigned as Sheev’s bodyguard for a mission to get a system to stay in the Republic. He remembers the dress he’d worn then, a short black thing that clung to his hips but luckily didn’t make his chest look any bigger. He actually liked the way it made his legs look, but it was a little cold what with it ending a few inches before his knees. The mission was a success and the only thing that happened was a bounty hunter tried to assassinate the Chancellor during a dinner, but Anakin stopped him. Even in high heels and a dress, he was still a Jedi.

In his nightmares, he’s giggling in Sheev’s lap after too many drinks, the two of them in the Chancellor’s rooms. Sheev kisses his neck, which hasn’t ever happened and is usually how Anakin realizes that he’s having the nightmare. One of Sheev’s hands is under his dress and when Anakin tries to wiggle away, Sheev grips his hair hard and yanks his head back to keep him still. Anakin says Padmé’s name and Sheev’s fingers aren't like hers at all.

It’s an awful dream.)

 

* * *

 

Rex is the first of the 501st to find out that his body isn’t 100% male.

It happens because he’s the one that makes it to where Anakin is hiding after being boxed in behind enemy lines. The droids had made use of the planet’s acid rain to separate the 501st and when Rex stumbles upon Anakin, he’s naked from the waist up due to his tunic melting.

Anakin flushes and crosses his arms over his breasts, trying to hide them from view, and Rex stares at him for a few long seconds before he makes the most interesting noise and turns around so fast he trips and ends up faceplanting. There’s a lot of stuttering before Rex manages a full worded apology, stripping out of his armor at record speed to yank his own shirt up to hand back to Anakin, not turning around to look at him until Anakin had pulled it on and told him he could.

“I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to stare.” Rex says again and Anakin just makes an understanding noise, not sure what he’s feeling. “You can hit me, if you’d like.” Rex continues and Anakin thinks about what he’d feel like if it had been _Ahsoka_ that Rex had seen like that.

He punches Rex in the face and they don’t ever speak of it again.

(He says Rex is the first because Kix eventually finds out when Anakin is knocked unconscious and happens to start his period while in the medbay. Kix had panicked at first when he’d seen the blood, until he figured out where it was coming from.

Anakin had woken up to a long lecture about how medics needed to be told things about their patients because _what if I gave you something that didn’t react well with your hormones, sir? I could’ve given you a heart attack!_ )


	2. Want the Silence But Fear the Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternately titled "My Life Is Not A Sitcom What The Fuck".

Out of everything that Anakin was expecting from shifting his hormones, he wasn’t expecting to gain more fat. Or at least, he wasn’t expecting to gain more fat where it was growing. He was expecting it to grow in the normal places, like his hips and butt - he still vividly remembers Knight Quincey pinching his “bubble butt” and commenting on how he needed to save some food for the troopers.

(He also remembers the way that Rex had to be grabbed to stop him from doing something unfortunate in response, Jesse and Kix holding the captain’s arms in a firm hold and yanking him away. He’s also pretty sure Ahsoka punched him behind Anakin’s back because he can’t think of any other reason for Quincey to have gotten that black eye before they were even planetside that also lined up with the fact that no trooper had gotten written up for assault or anything like that.

He wonders, not for the first time, what exactly led up to him dying in battle. Was it really just a coincidence that he happened to die after that? Was it really just that Jesse, Firefox, Trout, and Magnum couldn’t get to him before he was pinned down by enemy fire and perished? Or was it more that they didn’t _want_ to get to him in time?

Which one was the better option?)

But now he’s struggling into his binder and it’s not going over the damn things on his chest! He yanks the offending garment off and steps into it, hoping to get it on the other way. Of course, it gets stuck around his hips, because those have also gained fat. He huffs and wiggles out of it, holding it in front of himself and glaring at it viciously. He just needs to force himself into the damn thing, like the first few ones he had when he started growing breasts at age fourteen.

(He remembers being bone-deep terrified when he started to grow them. Breasts were not something he was supposed to have, not when he choose to be male, but they were growing now and how was he supposed to hide them?? What if he was sold off to a brothel now that he was growing them - no, no, don’t be ridiculous, the Jedi wouldn’t do that. They don’t own him, it’s not the same. It’s not the same.

Master cannot know about them, he has to bind them and quick.)

He gets most of himself stuffed into the damn thing but then it gets stuck. And his arms are still raised above his head and no amount of tugging is getting the binder over them or getting it to slide back up. He was stuck.

“Karking - are you kriffing - Artoo, help!” He finally calls out, defeated, and flops down onto the floor. Artoo whirls up behind him, already commenting on how his stubbornness made for very entertaining organic humor, and Anakin feels the light heat of a laser cutter as Artoo frees him of the offending piece of woven cloth.

 _I don’t see why you have to hide them at all, they’re not that big_. Artoo whistles and Anakin rubs tentatively at his left one, feeling the small stretch marks on its side. They both really do hurt from having to be stuffed into his binders all the time and he’s found out that in space they actually expand just enough for it to be noticeable.

He cups them both in his hands and looks them over, seeing the stretch marks around them and the angry creases in his skin from having them in his other binder. (It’s ruined now, sliced almost clean through because Ventress took a cheap shot at him.) Artoo is right; they’re smaller than Padmé’s pert, cute ones and fit easily in the palms of both his hands. If he just wore his robes over his tunics, no one would notice them.

But what would he do when they landed and he needed to go into battle? They’d get in the way and throw his balance off, not to mention that he didn’t wear his robes into battle, unlike Obi-Wan or Master Windu. Someone would see them or he’d get them bruised or cut or…

Then again, he wasn’t even supposed to have these. So, if he did get them sliced off in battle, wouldn’t that be for the better? In fact, if he got shot, the Resolute had the capacity for plastic surgery to just get rid of them. But, if he did that, Admiral Yularen would know and have to report the surgery to the Jedi Council and the Senate...

 _I don’t like that expression on your face._  Artoo beeps accusingly and Anakin flinches because Artoo knows him well enough to guess what he is thinking.

“I’m going to need to bind them somehow when we make planetfall.” Anakin says, letting go of his breasts to stand back up and wander over to his closet to look over his meager wardrobe. Tunics in every shade of grey, brown, and cream; trousers in three shades of brown to dark brown; two outer robes; and a floor length formal gown that he lugs around because the Chancellor bought it for him and says it makes him look nice.

(He can make himself look like a proper lady if he has the need. Palpatine liked to dress him up and it wasn’t always a bad thing - he managed to stop at least three drug rings in a get up like that and it’s always nice to have Sheev’s arm around his waist. It feels like the hugs Obi-Wan used to give him, back when he was still new to the Core and wasn’t used to mental shielding. Not to mention that Sheev usually is more affectionate with him when he’s dolled up like a lady and that’s nice. People, other than Padmé of course, so seldom touch him anymore.)

“This would be easier with medical bandages.” Anakin comments, just to see if Artoo will let him.

 _Absolutely not!_ Artoo whirls angrily, bumping into him for good measure.

“I know, I know, I wasn’t actually going to!” Anakin protests and ignores the way Artoo cusses his stupidity out and says some rather harsh things about Anakin’s intelligence. Anakin listens as he rips apart a tunic to use to bind his chest. Artoo is the only one who scolds him that doesn’t make him feel like a failure.

* * *

 

The ground battle starts out hot and goes into near nuclear levels very quickly. There are clones dying all around him and he is beyond furious. Admiral Yularen is commanding the space battle above them, high above the planet’s surface, and the planet’s militia has thrown in with the Separatists. It’s an overall clusterfuck of a situation and he finds it hard to breathe, to think, through the sheer rage thrumming through his blood. His soldiers are dying, civilians are dying in the city they are failing to defend, the planet is heaving with great, gasping sobs under his feet, and the droid army is killing clones, civilians, and the local militia indiscriminately.

Something explodes and Anakin is thrown back into a crumbling building. His lightsaber goes flying away into the dust somewhere, and when he shakes his head enough that his eyes refocus he sees that Klark, Sixty, and Sunny are in various pieces around him. He can see Klark’s mangled right half, distinguishable by the decal on his shoulder covering, next to Sixty’s still on fire head, and Sunny is missing his legs and gushing blood. He pushes himself up, slipping on blood (His own? No, he doesn’t feel any broken skin), and the wall crumbles as he pushes against it. He goes tumbling back with it and once the near red ash fades from his vision, he sees a child lying on the ground, head twisted one hundred eighty degrees the wrong way. He doesn’t have any arms and that seems strange to him, because who would have taken the poor child’s arms?

“General!” He hears Rex scream and turns, only to see that one of the militia members has come up on him with a massive cannon on their shoulder pointed at his head.

“DIE, JEDI - “ Is all he gets out before Anakin lifts his hand and wills all his rage out from it. The man crumbles not unlike melting tar or maybe one of Padmé’s face masks when she laughs before it’s fully dried.

He rises to his feet and coils the air around him, calling the wind to bear in a way that never fails to make Obi-Wan angry with him. He’s ahead of the 501st, Rex racing forward to try to get to him, but that works just fine. He brings the force up, wraps it around himself, lets it lick at his wariness, his sadness, the echoes of Padmé’s laughter ringing in his chest, and sends it ricocheting outward. The winds roar, the ground shrieks, and a massive tornado plows through the sentient and droid army in front of him like the wild arm of a youngling gesturing. He can hear the atoms around him ripped apart, can feel the water deep under the ground writhing as if it wants to come up and cause a flood, can see the bodies being ripped apart as the violent winds yank against each other, and he can almost taste the static from the droids trying to fire at him even through the disruption of their computerized brains.

He takes a step forward and an earthquake follows him, the ground shifting until whatever is left of the Separatist forces is crushed under rock and stone alike. He can feel the droid command station  down in the center of the city, can feel the hub of orders and electricity, can almost see the remaining foot soldiers guarding it, and it is nothing to send the writhing ground water that direction, to change the course of a nearby river to flow upstream and flood the area.

He’s breathing in wind and ash and breathing out chaos and exhaustion. He stretches out, strains to see how far he can go, and can feel the space fight above him as if they’re all butterflies trying to nest in his hair. It’s nothing to rearrange gravity, just a little, and make the massive Separatist ship have to fight against the planet’s gravity pulling it down, to force it to fight on two sides and not just one.

And then he pitches forward and vomits. More of it was blood than stomach acid, his body protesting having an entire planet inside it, and he has a moment to think that Artoo was going to be pissed at him before everything went black.

* * *

 

Artoo speeds off as soon as they land on Padmé’s veranda, beeping excitedly for Threepio. Anakin follows after with a grin, happy to have some time to see his wife. She’s pacing in her sitting room, headset on, and gesturing even as she speaks about something or another, he’s missed the first half of the sentence. She turns to head back the direction she just came in and stops so suddenly her words stutter and her eyes go wide when they land on him. He grins at her and holds his arms out.

“I can plainly see that we’re not going to see eye to eye on this. I will see you on the senate floor, good day.” She says and reaches up to disconnect the call, yanking the headset off even as she darts forward to jump at him. He catches her and spins her around as she laughs and squeezes him tight.

He’s barely put her down before she’s pushing herself up again, kissing him for all she’s worth, and he’ll never get tired of the way she tastes, her scent, the feel of her mind reaching and demanding against his own. His chest hurts a little as she presses against it, but that’s nothing in comparison to having her in his arms. She’s sucking on his tongue and pulling at his clothes like she can pull them off with just her determination and he pulls away from her to attempt suggesting they move to the bedroom.

Instead, she moves just in the wrong way to make him wince as the fabric of his latest makeshift binder scrapes painfully against one of his nipples.

“What’s wrong?” Padmé asks, picking up on his flinch.

“Sorry, they grew again. Cause of my meds.” He mutters. Padmé hums understandingly and rubs his arms, turning her gaze to his chest.

“Come into our room and we’ll get you out of your binder.” Padmé says and pulls him into their bedroom. He knows she’s going to be upset when she sees that he’s binding using just his torn up tunics but at least he’s only been wearing them for….come to think of it, maybe he just won’t mention how long he’s been using torn up tunics as binding….

“What happened to your binders?” Padmé asks as he takes his shirt off and she starts to untie the tiny bow he’d made to keep the whole thing tight.

“Ventress got a lucky shot in and ruined one and the other one turned out to be too small. I tried to force it on anyway and Artoo had to cut me out of it.” Anakin answers and obediently holds his arms out as Padmé quickly unwinds him. As the last bit of fabric left him, he realizes that his breasts hurt more than usual, no doubt from the incorrect binding and the excess time he had spent in it.

“Oh, Anakin…” Padmé whispers, upset, and then she reaches out to trail her fingers down a particularly angry groove left behind. His nipples are an angry red and ache almost like he’s attached a live wire to them and the mounds of fat are throbbing as if he’s had them pressed between two plates, hoping to pop them out of existence. (He hopes to never have another mammogram ever again. They hurt and it turned out to be nothing and he’d much rather just get rid of the damn things already.)

Padmé reaches out to grab at them and Anakin is about to make a comment about dials when her fingers dig into the skin and press just enough to chase away the throbbing. He whines and she smiles at him, gentle.

“Maybe I can at least message them a little? During my bleeding, mine get sore and this helps so maybe it’ll help?” She offers and her fingers are magic. She’s careful not to touch his nipples, obviously knowing that they’re too sensitive, but the steady pressure on the actually fleshy parts is wonderful.

 “How are your shoulders doing?” She asks him.

“S’fine.” He gets out, wanting to purr a little because ever since he unbound the damn things they’ve been hurting and now they’re not and it’s a miracle. Sure, his shoulders and upper back hurt a little, but that’s nothing in comparison to how good he’s feeling now.

“How long do I have you this time?” Padmé asks after he’s melted back onto their bed and she’s perched herself on his stomach.

“Standard ten-day. Tomorrow I’ve got a doctor’s appointment to change my hormones and I have a full day of meetings this Taungsday. I’m sure other things will come up, but as of right now I’m free for a lot of the time.” He answers and groans as she puts a little more pressure behind her next knead. His toes curl and he hadn’t realized that he was getting a headache until just this moment, now that the tension has left the back of his neck and his head is filled with swirling contentment.

She leans down to kiss him softly, drawing it out until he’s dizzy with it.

“Then you can stay here tonight, can’t you?”

“Yes, yes, whatever you want.” He gasps out as her thumbs glide over his nipples and his whole body lights up with a shock of unexpected arousal. He’d thought they’d still be too sensitive but apparently they like the attention just fine. She pinches at them lightly and Anakin’s toes curl as he arches towards her with a low cry.

What did he do to deserve someone who loves him this much?

* * *

 

It had to happen sometime. Considering how many people in Anakin’s life already knew about him, it really shouldn’t have been such a shock when it happened. And it wasn’t even because of anything he did!

He’d have expected it to happen because he got injured or something. But instead what happens is someone walks in on him during the exact right moment, like a fucking sitcom, and this has happened to him _twice_ now!

How many more people are going to walk in on him topless?!

And, it’s not even Obi-Wan that walks in on him! He could work with that, at least it would make a little more sense. But no, it’s fucking Agen Kolar!

He walks into his room, already talking about the latest report that Anakin _just gave_ , and then just...stops and stares. It’s almost an exact repeat of the time Rex found out that Anakin can’t help but laugh. He’s just gotten out of his binder and was about to switch into a normal shirt and here comes a Jedi Master, member of the Council, just...waltzing into Anakin’s room without so much as a knock.

Master Kolar doesn’t stutter the way Rex did and he doesn’t turn his back or offer Anakin anything to cover himself up. He feels blank, beyond shock, as if he’s just been given proof that the sky is made out of cheese.

“You - Skywalker, what - “ Master Kolar starts out and only then does he seem to realize that Anakin is half naked, turning his eyes away to look at the wall. “I - I should have knocked, I apologize. I...excuse me.” And with that he exits the room as suddenly as he came in.

Anakin laughs so hard he has to sit down, collapsing into a nearby chair.

He’s not sure what will happen now that they know, because surely Master Kolar will tell the entire council, but he guesses he will be seeing Obi-Wan very soon.


	3. Born From Dark Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Padmé are horrified by a discovery and we're getting really close to where I currently am in this verse.

It’s been two hours since Master Kolar walked in on him and so far nothing has happened. Anakin is honestly surprised that no one has come to talk to him or summoned him for…he’s not even sure, a talk? A ‘we’re disappointed in you; also you’re off the front lines’ talk? For the High Council to display their disgust with him? He’s not sure what he’s so frightened of, why he’s kept this a secret so long, because nothing has happened.

The door to his room chimes with an entrance request and for a moment Anakin can’t breathe. What if it’s Master Tiin, coming to tell him to pack up his things? What if it’s Master Fitso, coming to tell him they’re going to change all of his files and that they’re reassigning him to be addressed as a girl?

He takes a deep breath and tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. He’s an adult now, a married man, he can leave if he needs to. He has citizenship in the Republic, through Naboo, and isn’t a minor anymore – if he leaves, there’s options for him. He wouldn’t get hurt for leaving, either, and he can still help out with the war through other means. Everything is going to be okay, he can handle anything that they throw at him, and no one is going to hurt him.

He opens the door and Obi-Wan is waiting for him patiently, expression bland. Anakin opens and closes his mouth a few times, intending to say all sorts of things, but none of them come out. He steps aside and lets Obi-Wan into his room.

Obi-Wan comes into the room and looks around it, as he usually does, his gaze lingering on the two posters that Anakin has boldly displayed. Anakin remembers the many times that Obi-Wan has tried to tell him that material possessions aren’t becoming of a Jedi, the times he’s been told that when he comes back his room will be cleared or he’d be moved. And, to be fair to Obi-Wan, he has been moved a few times and every time he’s had to dig through the recycling containers for his posters and root around in the maintenance bins for his scrapped metal and parts.

“Master Kolar has been severely disciplined for his inappropriate behavior towards you earlier today.” Obi-Wan announces suddenly, still looking at the posters and Anakin feels his jaw drop. A master, a member of the council, was censored for…something they did to Anakin?

That _never_ happened.

“Unless of course, it wasn’t unwanted attention…?” Obi-Wan asks awkwardly, sounding an awful lot like the time he started to give Anakin the sexual urges talk when he was fifteen and Anakin was just confused by all the metaphors until it sunk in what in the sith hells the older man was trying to say and had to stop him to inform him that he knew it all already. And that, no, Obi-Wan really didn’t need to try to give Anakin another talk about it, especially not when he was doing it by using inaccurate mechanical metaphors, as if that would help Anakin understand things better.

And then Obi-Wan’s words sunk in and Anakin felt his stomach clench. He thought of Ahsoka being asked that kind of question after having an older man walk in on her changing and felt rage curl around his heart like a menacing Kyrat around a sapphire.

“I didn’t want to show him my tits, if that’s what you’re asking.” Anakin snaps out and Obi-Wan flinches.

“No, of course not, I’m sorry I asked such a crass question.” Obi-Wan says quickly and Anakin wraps his arms around himself, feeling the fat of one of the (thankfully smaller) mounds press against his arm. They’re the smallest they’ve been since they started growing and he still wishes they were gone. They’re still too big, even if no one can see them most of the time, but now he has to use the old kind of binder because none of the newer ones come in both his size and cup measurement.

“Anakin, I – I’m sorry, about this, I am, but there are some…questions that we – that I – have. For you.” Obi-Wan stammers out and Anakin is astonished to find that the other man is actually embarrassed. Not just uneasy or a little abashed, as he was sometimes when Duchess Kryze would rile him up with old stories, but wishing-the-ground-would-swallow-me-up embarrassed.

Surly he wouldn’t be embarrassed if he was coming to tell Anakin he was going to be thrown out of the Order?

“Like what?” Anakin asks warily.

“How we should address you, for one thing. Is it still he or…?” Obi-Wan asks and he steps forward to brush off some dust from a bookshelf. Anakin mimics his movement in reverse, taking a step with him to stay on the same vertical line, as if that’s somehow important to this conversation. It’s not, he knows it not, but it feels imperative.

“I’m a boy.” Anakin says quietly, daring him to contradict that fact.

“Yes, but…do you _want_ to be a boy or are you a boy because you feel you have to be?” Obi-Wan asks and he finally risks a glance at Anakin from the corner of his eyes. Anakin stares at him, utterly taken aback, not sure what this conversation means.

“I’m a boy because I am. It’s…not about wanting, it’s about what I am. My body is…annoying and wrong, sometimes, but I’m a boy.” Anakin says. He wants to beg his master to not change the way anyone address him, he doesn’t want to be a girl. He doesn’t want to be called Lady, Ma’am, or She – he had enough of that on Tatooine, when everyone called him _girl-child_ and _human slave-girl not yet of breeding age_.

“Oh, Ani…” Obi-Wan says and he hasn’t called Anakin by that name in years, not since they were both still getting to know each other. “I wish you had trusted me enough to talk to me about this.” He continues, visibly hurt.

Anakin doesn’t really know what to say or do in this situation.

“At the very least, the council wants you to have a full physical, just to make sure nothing’s wrong. Since none of us knew about you, we might have been giving you substances that might hinder your development. And, our healing chambers also come with a surgery center, so if you want, you can talk to a team to help with your transition, if you’d like.” Obi-Wan says after clearing his throat.

Anakin just stares at him in utter shock for a few moments, not sure if he heard any of that correctly.

“I…uh…I don’t need a physical, I just got one actually. I get one every time I come back, my primary doctor insists on it. And she’s the one that is actually handling all of my physical, body stuff so…thank you, but I got this.” Anakin says and still feels a little like he’s missed a step somewhere.

Now Obi-Wan is looking at him like he’s just said something odd and this whole situation is confusing. Obi-Wan reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, takes a deep breath, and then says:

“Anakin, you do know the Order provides healthcare for you, for free? Do I even want to know how you’re paying for outside care?”

“Nothing illegal, don’t freak out so much.” Anakin starts and then continues with, “I have an outside healthcare plan that I pay for myself that covers most of the costs and the Chancellor sometimes pays for anything too expensive since he’s the one that actually helped me get the right plan and find my doctor.”

“Chancellor Palpatine helps you pay for medical costs?” Obi-Wan asks sharply and he feels suspicious, which makes Anakin’s hackles rise.

“He’s always supported me, you know that. He likes to help me.” Anakin defends. Obi-Wan’s suspicion waned and Anakin felt himself relax in response.

“And what does he ask in return for such generosity?” Obi-Wan asks and Anakin really wishes that Obi-Wan would just believe him when he said that Sheev Palpatine was a good man.

“He doesn’t ask me for anything, he’s not like that, Obi-Wan. I know you don’t like him, for whatever reason, but he’s a good man. He’s been there for me since I got here; is it really that hard to think that maybe he loves me? He’s said on multiple occasions that I’m like the son he never had, why do you always make him out to be the bad guy?” Anakin asks quietly, going for blunt honesty since that was apparently what they were doing now.

He just didn’t understand why Obi-Wan didn’t like Sheev. It was bad enough that Padmé and Palpatine were often on opposite political sides now and that meant that his wife wasn’t always willing to understand where Anakin was coming from in his like for the older man, but Obi-Wan just didn’t like him because he was a politician. It wasn’t fair!

“Anakin, my issues with Chancellor Palpatine aside, you have to admit that him paying for a large portion of your medical costs does seem rather strange. If the general public found out about that, it would cause all sorts of problems for both the Jedi and the Chancellor.” Obi-Wan says, obviously going for calm but really just sounding bitter and tired.

“No it wouldn’t. The Senate pays for the GAR’s medical insurance and technically it pays for the Jedi’s insurance too, or don’t you know how we get our funding?” Anakin snaps, because he’s had this argument with Padmé already and its old news. “So really, it’s just an extension of that – if anything, the fact that I had to get outside insurance to deal with…my other stuff, really just means that the _Jedi_ will be looked at suspiciously. That’s what you’re really concerned about, isn’t it?” Anakin continues and stops himself just before he accuses Obi-Wan of not caring about Anakin himself.

For all that the Republic says he’s the “hero with no fear”, Anakin knows the truth: at the base, he’s a coward. He’s terrified that if he confronts Obi-Wan upfront about how much the other man cares for him, that he’ll just be told what he already knows and it will break him. He _knows_ that Obi-Wan cares more about the Order than he does anyone else, including Anakin, and he also knows that he can’t handle being told that in blunt words. He’s always been scared of the people he loves not loving him in return, it’s a failing that even the teachings of the Order haven’t been able to cure him of.

( _Oh, dear boy, you know I love you best. I worry about what Master Kenobi would say to you if he knew the truth about you. He barely tolerates you as it is, you know that; what would he say if he knew that even your body fails at living up to expectations?_

_Skywalker, must you emote so recklessly? You’ll corrupt the younglings._

_We live in a real world, come back to it! You're studying to become a Jedi, I'm... I'm a senator. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion, it will take us to a place we cannot go, regardless of the way we feel about each other.)_

Obi-Wan wraps his arms around Anakin is a firm hug, pushing Anakin’s head down just enough so he can hide in Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He doesn’t hug Anakin, not unless something really bad has happened, but he’s hugging him now and…he feels so hurt still, but beneath that, there is so much affection and a sense of pride that it takes Anakin’s breath away.

Obi-Wan doesn’t hate him. He knows and he doesn’t hate him or think him different or broken – he doesn’t hate him!

“I’m sorry for making you feel like that, Ani. I’m just concerned about you, that’s all.” Obi-Wan murmurs and Anakin hugs him back, wanting nothing more than to stay here for a while and maybe tell Obi-Wan all about Padmé and see if he still loves him after that. Where does his love end, where’s the line that he can’t cross?

“If you don’t want to talk to our healers, by all means, don’t. But, they do need your records, just so they know what medications you’re on and to know what they can’t give you. Some of the things they prescribe can interfere with hormone treatment or interact with certain hormones to give the patient everything from a blood clot to a heart attack.” Obi-Wan says and Anakin knows all of that. Kix gave him a very similar lecture months ago.

“I can get my records transferred.” Anakin murmurs and lets Obi-Wan pull back. He doesn’t cling, doesn’t try to go back for more, and when Obi-Wan takes a step back, he doesn’t try to shuffle forward just for the small hope that he might get another hug.

* * *

 

“You knew, about Anakin, didn’t you?’ Obi-Wan asks, holding onto his drink and staring at the countertop. He sees Rex take a drink from the corner of his eye before the other man answers.

“Yes, sir, I knew.”

“He told you?” Obi-Wan asks and isn’t sure if he really wants to know the answer.

“Not so much. Remember that clusterfuck on Gurley? The acid rain had separated us from General Skywalker and it had eaten away at his robes and tunic. I gave him my shirt and let me tell you, armor on bare skin is a bitch.” Rex says. Obi-Wan snorts.

“The universe seems to have a thing with making people walk in on him like that then, as that’s almost exactly how we found out about him. Master Kolar walked in on him changing.” Obi-Wan explained. He felt the air around them chill and remembered, rather belatedly, that Captain Rex was rather protective of Anakin. He’d have to make sure Master Kolar and Rex never crossed paths after this…

“None of you knew?” Rex asks, sounding startled.

“No, I’m ashamed to say that he didn’t trust any of us with that information.” Obi-Wan confesses and takes another drink.

“I thought you all knew. I figured that was the reason why I was always assigned with General Skywalker when we made planet-fall for diplomatic missions, since he was always more comfortable being roomed with me since I was one of the first of the 501st to know.” Rex admits and suddenly so much makes sense.

Obi-Wan thought that Anakin always brought Rex with him and Ahsoka when they made planet-fall out of a mixture of trust and fondness, a trust that the man would have his back if anything happened and a want to have Rex nearby. But if it was because he was the only one who knew about Anakin, then it made a different kind of sense. Anakin could get changed with Rex in the room and trust that the other man wouldn’t be disturbed or act inappropriately.

“So, what happened to General Kolar?” Rex asks.

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan downs the rest of his drink before he continues with, “Oh, he was censored and given some remedial courses that have a heavy emphasis on sexual harassment detours.”

Rex hums and Obi-Wan gets the sense that he’s disappointed in that response. He isn’t surprised by that, he’s always suspected that Rex’s feelings for Anakin might not be strictly platonic and in light of that the man would want a harsher punishment on Anakin’s behalf. If Rex were a Jedi, he’d say something about not giving into the negative emotions formed through emotional attachments and maybe look into reassigning himself to another troop to gain some distance from Anakin, as he was the focus of the attachment.

But Rex was not a Jedi, so Obi-Wan didn’t say anything. And, to be perfectly honest with himself, he felt a small bit of pity for the other man – he knew Anakin wasn’t easy to love and it didn’t take a great detective to work out that he and Padmé Amidala were having an affair.

He pats Rex on the shoulder once before he takes his leave.

* * *

 

It was truly an accident, her finding the holo. She had been looking for something completely different when she’d put in the wrong databank number and instead of photos from the latest refugee camp on Lilith, she was looking at an old gossip piece from years ago. The holoimage itself is of the Chancellor showing up for the opening of an opera that was critically acclaimed, she vaguely remembers seeing promos for it and thinking she wanted to watch it, but it’s the person on the Chancellor’s arm that catches her attention.

They look fairly young and pretty, their blonde hair curling around their chin and the dress hugging their body shows off the soft swell of their hips. The Chancellor’s arm is around their waist and even if she didn’t have a good shot of their face, she’d know who they were from the way they carry their shoulders and the peak of leg she sees from the high slit of the gown.

Anakin looks good in red; she’s never really considered that before.

She saves a copy of the image to her uplink, closes the connection, and goes to the nearest bathroom to try not to shake apart. She can’t think of any reason why Anakin, _her_ Anakin, would be wearing a gown like that willingly, smiling coyly, without wanting to hit something. Anakin doesn’t like wearing form fitting clothes, even clothes that didn’t emphasize the swell of his hips and the soft roundness of his breasts, he hates clothes that cling to him. And the fabric for that gown he was wearing was ryalin, he _hates_ ryalin – it makes him jittery and itchy. And he was wearing heels – heels! It’s – she can’t even begin to form the thought for why that’s wrong.

Who put him in that getup? It’s everything that Anakin hates to wear all wrapped up in one horrible monstrosity and _he was smiling_. Someone forced him into clothes he hates and then made him smile! She can’t –

She takes a breath and resolves not to think on it right now. She has to get through the rest of her day without screaming and if she tries to follow this path down, she’s going to want to scream. Or hunt Anakin down, just to make sure he’s not being forced into clothes he hates, and then corner him against a wall.

If she pushed him up against the wall next to her office door, she could kiss him until he was breathless and made that little whimper when she pulled away. She’d push his hands back against the wall, tell him not to touch, and he’d whine at her but obey. She’d kiss and bite at his neck, listen to this nails scratch against the wall, and press her hands flat against his stomach and slide them down. Anakin would groan and the tips of her fingers would brush against -

“Mistress Padmé, your next meeting is going to be here presently and I think we should go over the kind of tea that would be appropriate to have on hand for them.” Threepio says as he comes into the bathroom, totally disregarding any kind of manners regarding privacy, and allows for a bit of reality into her fantasy. She allows herself a moment of self-pity for the fact that one of her dreams definitely cannot ever happen, for so many people walk in and out of her offices, but it’s a lovely fantasy.

And it did it’s job of ensuring she doesn’t bite the head off of the next person she has a disagreement with.

* * *

 

“I need to show you something disturbing.” Padmé says before he’s even finished closing her office door. She’s clearly agitated, standing in front of a projected image that he can’t make out around her form, shoulders tense and mouth set in a straight line.

“You can trust me, Senator Amidala.” Obi-Wan says.

“It’s not about the war. It’s about Anakin.” She says and Obi-Wan swallows, wondering if perhaps she didn’t know the truth either and has just found out.

“Senator, I’m not sure if – “ He starts to say but then she moves to the side and his eyes catch on the image she was hiding. His words dry up in his throat as he looks at what is undeniably an image of Chancellor Palpatine and Anakin, from some years ago. Anakin was perhaps seventeen in the image; he recognized the way his bangs swept to the left as the hairstyle he had favored from the age of sixteen to mid-seventeen, before he grew them out enough to push them back into the rest of his hair. He hadn’t liked the fact that his hair had to be long enough for a single braid, but shorn short everywhere else for safety reasons. _Just give me an armband or something, why do I need a bloody **braid** to show that I’m a padawan??_ He would complain a lot about how ridiculous he looked, but secretly Obi-Wan rather thought the hairstyle made him look young enough that it kept him out of trouble.

His face is the only thing about the image that looks like him though. The braid must be wrapped around the back of his head, because there’s no mismatch of hair lengths in this holo. The deep red gown he’s wrapped in hugs his body in a way that really shows off the curve of his hips and the swelling of his chest. He looks very much female in this image, a very pretty young thing, being paraded around on a powerful older man’s arm. An older man who has his arm wrapped around Anakin’s waist, his hand low on Anakin’s hip, and Obi-Wan feels his skin crawl just looking at it.

“Where did you get this?” Obi-Wan asks, throat dry.

“It’s from the gossip files. It was just sitting there in an edition of Entertainment Tonight, like it isn’t the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen Anakin do. And I’ve seen him _electrocuted_ , Obi-Wan. He’s smiling; he’s wearing a slinky gown that even I’d hesitate to wear at age seventeen _and he’s smiling_. He hates clothes like that, Obi-Wan! He hates things that cling and the fabric that dress is made out of makes him itch! He wouldn’t wear something like that, never mind the fact that it’s also a fucking dress!” Padmé finally explodes, voice growing louder as she gets progressively more upset. Her anger makes it hard to maintain the serenity he’s been desperately clinging to.

He has to tune her out as she turns back to the image in front of him, peeling away his personal feelings about the subjects. He’s overly attached to Anakin, but he can be impartial if he needs to be, and looking at the image with new eyes he finds that it still makes him feel a little uneasy. The age difference between the two is something to consider, but Anakin doesn’t look uncomfortable. The dress is flattering and maybe this was before Anakin had a firm understanding of his gender identity? Maybe he was experimenting with things, trying things out before he cemented his ideas, and hasn’t he always said that the Chancellor was his closest friend and mentor? Maybe he needed someone he trusted nearby while he figured things out.

But that dress has a low neckline and it he’s not mistaken also a thigh high slit on both sides. It’s not something he’d ever think Anakin would like to wear; he’s never been big on revealing clothes. He gets cold very easily since the core only has a small sun, not two massive ones. And Obi-Wan isn’t a stranger to being a mentor to impressionable youths, he never put his hand that low on a seventeen year old’s waist – it was inappropriate. And that dress – Anakin certainly wouldn’t have been able to afford anything like that, so where had it come from?

“Padmé, do you know anything about that gown? It’s designer, the label…?” Obi-Wan asks abruptly.

“It’s from the Green Collection by Henixx. It’s made of a fabric that Anakin is mildly allergic to and he’s wearing it anyway.” Padmé answers, voice hard and displeased. Obi-Wan reaches up to stroke his beard, thinking over what little he knows of Henixx. A prominent designer with an elite clientele, from ruling monarchs to various senators in the Republic, even the smallest thing sold is worth over a thousand credits. (A handkerchief, to be precise – he knows because he once had to track down everything Count Dooku owned, including his overly expensive fabric squares. Why anyone would spend that much on something so useless is beyond him.)

“There’s no way that Anakin might have bought that gown second hand, is there?” Obi-Wan asks and Padmé makes a sound not unlike an enraged lothcat.

“The Green Collection came out the same month as this was taken, I checked. Anakin wouldn’t be able to afford that, and more importantly, _he wouldn’t want to_. He doesn’t like dresses! He doesn’t like things that cling to him at all!” Padmé snapped and Obi-Wan really should be more concerned with why she knows such things about Anakin, but one thing at a time.

“Which means that the Chancellor bought it for him.” Obi-Wan says and as he says the words, he can almost see it happening in front of him: the Chancellor pushing Anakin to wear it, Anakin refusing, and then the older man holding something over his head to force him into it – like his medical care. This was what Obi-Wan was afraid of when Anakin told him that tidbit of information.

“Anakin is teaching a class right now and then he’s got the Wilkli clan until dinnertime. When do you get off work?” Obi-Wan asks and waits as Padmé goes around her desk to access her calendar.

“Earlier than usual, at six. Why?” She asks, turning her gaze to him.

“I’m inviting you to dinner, at the temple. Bring the holo; we need to talk to Anakin about this.” Obi-Wan says.

“He’s going to feel like we’re ganging up on him.” Padmé points out, but she’s typing it into her calendar anyway.

“Maybe we need to gang up on him in this case.”


	4. It's Just an Empty Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otherwise known as: "A Disastrous Dinner Party".

Anakin knew something was up as soon as Obi-Wan came to him with an invitation to have dinner together in their rooms. Obi-Wan almost always eats in one of the communal mess halls or snacks between meetings until Anakin hunts him down and forces an actual meal down his throat. He seldom eats in the rooms he and Anakin share, so him _offering_ to not only eat within them, but eat with Anakin? Always means an ambush being planned - Anakin’s fallen for that tactic many a time, but he’s older now and won’t fall for it now.

So, he’s already suspicious once he comes into their apartments. He notices that the secondhand couch from Qui-Gon’s old rooms has a blanket thrown over its top, to hide the various scratch marks, burns, and holes from view. Obi-Wan only throws a blanket over that couch for two reasons - he’s either sleeping under the blanket or a member from the council was over.

Anakin hovers in the room, stretching his senses out, uneasy. It’s never a good thing when a member of the council and Obi-Wan conspire to lecture him. It usually mean Anakin has to lie, a lot, and still get in trouble for reasons he doesn’t fully understand. Or he’d get lots of censure after they ganged up on him and it was never fair. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done recently that could warrant them ganging up on him though, so who was here and what could he do to make sure he got at least a little bit of fairness out of the situation? How bad was the lecture -

Padmé.

He senses Padmé - here! In the temple! In his rooms!

He walks forward in a daze, feeling around her aura as best he can to try and make sense of what she could be here for. She’s happy and relaxed, but he can’t tell much else without at least seeing her. He pushes the button to the kitchen door and it slides open to reveal Obi-Wan and Padmé, mid-conversation. Her hair is twisted into a simple bun, held together by two ornamental sticks, and around her waist is a colorful chain with a flower at its buckle. She must have come here right from the senate.

“Anakin!” Padmé exclaims, happy to see him, but clearly trying to downplay how happy she is. She steps closer to give him a hug and plants a kiss to his cheek and he’s still so shocked at her presence that he doesn’t even hug her back.

“Glad to see you on time for once. Here, put these on the table.” Obi-Wan says, handing him three plates that Anakin didn’t even know they had - he thinks they were salvaged from a recycling bin and then cleaned up, because there was no way that either of them would have actually bought the monstrosities.

“Please tell me you didn’t cook.” Anakin teases as he goes to put the plates down on the table they hardly ever eat at. (It’s cleared of the various datapads that usually liter its surface and even has a tablecloth over it. Where did it come from??)

“Ani! I’m sure whatever it is, General Kenobi worked very hard to make it.” Padmé scolded and Obi-Wan burst into laughter.

“Thank you for the thought, Padmé, but Anakin knows very well that cooking is not a talent I profess to have. This is all from Dex’s, all I did was reheat it and grab drinks.” Obi-Wan admitted. Padmé huffed and probably rolled her eyes, but Anakin didn’t see it for sure since he was busy rearranging the silverware. Obi-Wan always did it wrong and it used to really annoy Anakin when he was younger but now it was almost like a game between them for whenever they actually ate in their rooms.

It was a tight fit to get them all seated around the little table, but they did manage it in the end. Padmé’s close enough that he could reach over and hold her hand if he dared, so he makes sure to keep his hands occupied to prevent that from happening. For all he knows, this dinner could be Obi-Wan telling Anakin that he knows about them and is giving him a heads up before he tells the council. And if that’s the case, the least he can do for himself is not give Obi-Wan any more proof if he already knows.

“I didn’t know you could order take out from Dex’s.” Padmé comments as they all start to eat. She doesn’t realize just how close they might be to having this whole charade end and, not for the first time, he wishes he could communicate with her telepathically. Even if he could just send her emotions, like he can do with Obi-Wan, that would be enough.

“Normally, you can’t, but I’ve got an inside guy.” Obi-Wan confides teasingly. Anakin snorts into his (delicious but not spicy enough) food and Padmé laughs.

“You think your guy could manage delivery to my offices? We tip generously when delicious food is involved.” Padmé says mischievously, winking for good measure. He almost choked on his laughter as he tried to imagine Dex delivering food and coming back with all the senate’s gossip and secrets; the expression on his face!

“Don’t choke, Anakin.” Obi-Wan says, passing him a glass of water, and oozing concern. This is one of the reasons Anakin tries not to talk and eat at the same time; it’s so easy to embarrass himself or Obi-Wan if they’re together. If this had happened at a state dinner, he’d be mortified.

Half an hour later, Obi-Wan is telling a story that has Padmé practically in tears of laughter and Anakin doesn’t know why. He’s missing the joke, something about the way Primal Lotuc was behaving around Cody, and this happens to him quite a lot now that he thinks about it. Not just when Obi-Wan and Padmé talk, but when the Chancellor talks with Amadda or members of his cabinet. He supposes it must be from being raised in the Core and its boundaries, but it does mean that a lot of context gets lost for him in stories. For instance, he can’t think of any reason why leaning towards someone too much in a conversation would be funny or touching their upper arm, but apparently that’s enough to send Padmé into hysterics.

(He remembers a dinner spent with Sheev and some of the chancellor’s friends, not all of them members of his cabinet, and Sheev telling them all a story about Senator Tuly’s habit of touching Anakin’s hair whenever he greeted him. Anakin thought it a little annoying, for Tuly had a perfectly fine head of hair himself, but everyone had done that thing where they smiled to cover up snickers. He was surly missing something, but to this day he still can’t think of what could have been funny about that. Maybe the fact that the older man was so obsessed with Anakin’s curls when he had straight hair? But, if that was the case, why would that be _funny_? Core worlders were so weird…)

He knows he does the same thing to Padmé from time to time, like when he tries to explain things about his holidays or practices. He’ll sometimes be telling her a story and start laughing, only to realize that the joke didn’t catch with Padmé and he’d have to backtrack to explain the joke. This, of course, ruins its humor.  

“That was a fine treat, my compliments to the chief.” Padmé says and as she pats at her mouth with a napkin, he notices that her lipstick has faded to a dull sheen. She must have used a cheaper stick this morning, he wonders if it was on purpose or not.

“I’ll be sure to give him your compliments.” Obi-Wan responds and he reaches out to spin the pepper shaker. He only does that when he’s nervous. Which means this is a trap, just as Anakin figured it would be. Obi-Wan swallows and his eyes dart over to Padmé momentarily before he looks at Anakin and then the wall, in in too quick succession. Nervous and it’s about them.

This is a heads up. Anakin knew it; he _knew_ Obi-Wan knew about them! He found out somehow and now he’s going to tell the council and Anakin was going to be expelled and Padmé was going to get yelled at by the Queen of Naboo and possibly lose her job and -

He takes a deep breath and tells himself to calm down. The end of this scenario was always going to be the same – they both went into this knowing that. And if this was a warning and Obi-Wan was the one going to inform the council, then it might not be a complete disaster. The war was still going strong and they couldn’t _afford_ to kick Anakin out of the GAR proper, he could still protect his men even if they expelled him from the Order.

“Anakin, I wanted to talk to you about something that Padmé found the other day.” Obi-Wan says and that wasn’t even a little bit what Anakin was expecting. He chances a look at Padmé, who is connecting a little holoprojector to her com, and he officially has no idea what is happening.

“I happened to stumble over this when I was looking through some old gossip columns.” Padmé says and clicks on the projector. The image in front of him is a familiar one, one that he doesn’t like to remember or see, and it makes his skin crawl just looking at it. He’d had a rash for at least three days after this mission because of the fabric involved and he wants to tell them both to turn the damn thing off.

None of them need a visual reminder of how ugly Anakin looks when he’s trying to be a girl.

“What is this about?” Anakin snaps at Obi-Wan, resolutely not looking at the uncomfortable image.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you.” Obi-Wan responds and he’s so calm about this, as if that image isn’t gross and embarrassing and _disgusting_. As if it doesn’t show off all the ways his body isn’t right, all the ways that Anakin was broken at creation and pierced together incorrectly.

“I’m confused over what is happening in this holo.” Padmé says and Anakin turns to look at her, feeling a small fission of betrayal well up inside his chest. Why is she insisting on keeping that damn image up? Why is she ganging up on him with Obi-Wan of all people?

“I should think it’s obvious: we’re standing.” Anakin says shortly. Obi-Wan makes a frustrated sound and Padmé takes a deep breath through her noise, the only sign that she’s getting annoyed. As if she has any right to be the one annoyed here.

“Where did you get that dress? Did the Chancellor buy it for you?” Obi-Wan asks and Anakin feels his hackles rise, because that’s the tone Obi-Wan uses when he’s trying to figure out what’s behind Dooku’s latest actions in the war.

“What does that matter?” Anakin snaps and pushes away from the table with enough force that the projector wobbles.

“It matters because he forced you to wear it!” Obi-Wan says loudly. He’s not yelling, but it’s a very near thing.  

“Wait, we’re not -” Padmé starts to say at the same time Anakin cuts back with:

“He didn’t _force me_ to do anything! The Chancellor is a good man, Obi-Wan!”

“Oh, right, you just _chose_ to wear a form hugging gown out in public when you apparently hate presenting as a female so much that the entire Order didn’t even know you weren’t born a male for over a decade!” Obi-Wan growls out and Anakin hasn’t ever heard him use that voice on him before. Obi-Wan has used it on Ventress during battle and against Admiral Zula after she had referred to the 212th as cannon fodder, but _never_ on Anakin.

“Is that what this is about?! You’re upset that I didn’t tell you about it so you’re accusing the Chancellor of - I don’t even know what, some nefarious dealing that involved putting me in a slightly uncomfortable outfit for an evening?!” Anakin snaps back, hurt and confused in equal measure. He doesn’t understand why Obi-Wan is so angry with him, what did he do wrong?

“Don’t answer that.” Padmé cuts in before Obi-Wan can even open his mouth to respond. “We aren’t here to attack anyone, Ani; we just want to understand what is happening here. This is before you and I re-met each other and I’m a little confused here. Obi-wan is clearly just as confused and concerned as I am and we’re just here to _understand_.” Padmé continues and she’s clearly trying to stop an explosion before it occurs.

“What’s there to understand? This was from the Falciani Incident and it was a little uncomfortable but the end result was a criminal trafficking ring getting broken up.” Anakin says and he stares at Obi-Wan, daring him to contradict the fact that Anakin did something good that time. He wasn’t the one the Order wanted to send, but in the end he had been the one that finished the job.

“It was a little uncomfortable? Because of what you had to wear?” Padmé questions and Anakin has the irrational want to snap his teeth at her, like a cornered dog.

“Yes, if you must know.” Anakin says and he wishes he hadn’t forgone his robes for this meeting; he’d have liked to twist his fingers if only for something to do. He feels boxed in and he hates that feeling.

“Because you’re allergic to the fabric, right?” Padmé continues and why is she doing this?

“Because it’s a fucking dress, Padmé! Because it was tight and it emphasized my nearly nonexistent cleavage and I hated it! Because I spent an entire opera freezing because the damn thing had a slit up both sides! Because I had to wear these heels with it and I twisted my ankle just walking up the steps and if not for Sheev making sure I didn’t face-plant, there was a good chance of showing off my underwear to anyone nearby with a camera! And, yes, because I was allergic to the fabric type but it was the only dress that was in my size that we could use to get us both into the playhouse so the Chancellor could actually try to do some good in the universe and disband a trafficking ring!” He roars at them both and he feels his skin crawling.

He looks back at the image still being projected and remembers the way it wrapped around his ribcage and hips, remembers the way people had looked at him, the way a few had touched his shoulders, and the long hour and a half he spent afterwards in a shower. Sheev had said he’d looked fantastic, had said he was beautiful, but that was the exact opposite of what Anakin had wanted to hear. He knew Sheev was being polite, knew he was being blinded by his personal feelings for Anakin, because he looks at this image and knows what he looks like. It was nice of him to lie to Anakin, to make the attempt, but ultimately it was pointless.

“Then why did you wear it?!” Obi-Wan demands and he comes over to grab Anakin by the shoulders, not quite shaking him, but staring into Anakin’s face as if he can gleam some hidden truth from it. Anakin flinches at the rush of anger he feels from the older man, trying to wiggle out of his hold, but Obi-Wan tightens his grip and continues with: “Why didn’t you say you were uncomfortable? Wouldn’t he have given you something else to wear if you had told him you didn’t want to be paraded around like that?!”

Anakin wrenches himself out of Obi-Wan hold and for a brief moment he thinks he might actually slap Obi-Wan right across the face.

“The plan wouldn’t have worked if he had brought me as I am; everyone in the underground knows what a Jedi Padawan looks like!” Anakin snaps. Obi-Wan makes a frustrated noise.

“Ani, did you tell the Chancellor that you didn’t want to wear that?” Padmé asks and she’s using her _Anakin-just-woke-up-from-a-nightmare-must-keep-him-calm_ voice.

“It didn’t matter what I - ”

“Did you tell him or not?” Obi-Wan cuts in sharply and Anakin takes a few steps away from him, not wanting to risk being grabbed again.

“Of course I did, but it’s not any different than the way I had to cut my hair off or how I could only wear certain things on certain planets during my time as a padawan.” Anakin says and he wants this conversation over with.

Obi-Wan is pacing and running a hand through his hair. He feels angry and disgusted – which Anakin could have done without feeling – but he’s clearly frazzled enough to not shield properly. Padmé has retaken her seat and is holding her head in her hands. Anakin can feel his skin crawling in the telltale way that means he’s going to be wasting a lot of water later in a vain attempt at scrubbing his skin off so it comes back the right way.

“How can you not see the difference between those things?” Obi-Wan asks quietly.

“Because there is no difference! The Order tells me what to wear, how to do my hair, what to think and feel, what I’m allowed to do, who I’m allowed to talk to – at least Sheev doesn’t forbid me from _feeling things_! So I have to spend a little bit of time in something uncomfortable, what’s the big deal?! I’ve had to do that on missions with you too!” Anakin shouts and his eyes are watering; he _hates_ arguing with Obi-Wan, hates it when he has to shout because his voice goes high and it sounds so shrill.

_(“Guess being the Chosen One doesn’t stop your voice from sounding so girly, does it Skyhopper?” Padawan Edvin snickers and Anakin feels his ears heat in embarrassment.)_

“Those are not the same thing, Anakin. When we tell you what to wear, we are doing it to help you traverse the galaxy so as not to offend anyone you interact with. You know that, you’ve been to the lessons and I’ve always made sure to _tell you_ the reasons behind why you have to wear certain things. There’s no reason why the Chancellor had to put you in that dress – you could have worn literally anything else! Why put you in a dress, why not in a suit? And if you _had_ to wear a dress – which you very much didn’t, don’t even try to defend that – why put you in such a revealing one?” Obi-Wan demands and Anakin doesn’t want to hear any of this.

 “You’re just trying to make him out to be the bad guy! You’ve never liked him! He’s not - it’s not like that!”

 “Anakin, don’t be a child! You know very well how inappropriate this is; why can’t you just admit it to yourself?!” Padmé cuts in angrily, most likely fed up with how defensive Anakin is being. She’s never liked it when Anakin tried to defend the Chancellor.

 “It’s not, it’s NOT LIKE THAT!” Anakin shouts and then, thoroughly fed up with this entire conversation, flees into his own rooms. Obi-Wan and Padmé shout at him to stay, to talk things out, but he just can’t be in that room with either one of them a moment longer.

 “Anakin, just…I didn’t bring this up to argue with you, I’m just concerned.” Obi-Wan says through the closed door and Anakin covers his ears, not wanting to hear any more of it. What they were saying was nonsense, Sheev wasn’t like that! It wasn’t like that! Sheev’s never hurt him.

 The Chancellor  _loves him_ , but not in a bad way. He loves him like Obi-Wan loves him, like Anakin loves Snips. It’s not… _like that_. Obi-Wan just doesn’t like the Chancellor and is deliberately making it out to be something gross and twisted. 

  _(In the nightmare, Sheev’s touch is cold and rough and Anakin wants to get away from it.)_

 Nightmares aren’t real.

  _(Unless they are.)_

 But  _that one_  isn’t real. It’s not.

The Chancellor would never hurt him, it’s not like that. The holo image just caught a weird moment between them, that’s all - sometimes his grips slips on Anakin, sometimes his fingers brush a little too low, but it’s not on purpose. It’s an accident, it’s not...it’s not what they’re suggesting. 

/ _Anakin?/_  Artoo beeps as he whirls up to where Anakin is leaning against the door. 

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” Anakin says and it’s fine. Nothing’s wrong, they’re concerned about him, he knows that, but it’s not based on anything real. They just don’t like the Chancellor and are letting that drive their view of things. 

/ _You’re leaking./_  Artoo points out and reaches one of his extenders out towards him. 

“Everything’s fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks, we're caught up with were I am on tumblr. I'm going to TRY for a two week from now update, but honestly with work being as it is and such, it might be longer. Or shorter, who knows? (bet on longer tho)


	5. Disappearing In Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the disastrous dinner party, Anakin wants a little bit of sanity in his life. And Sheev Palpatine has always been a great listener.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major trigger warning for Anakin disassociating towards the end of this chapter and molestation. Someone help Anakin Skywalker.

Anakin doesn’t think he’s ever ignored a message from Padmé before. He’s had to delay a response to get a secure line, sure, but he’s never outright ignored a message from her before. He supposes there’s a first time for everything.

He turns his comm onto silent and puts it back into his pocket. Padmé has left him two messages that he’s yet to read and Obi-Wan has left him three - which he did read, just in case they contained something actually important. (Which, of course, they didn’t. So he deleted them.) It’s a childish was to deal with them both, he knows, but he’s still so upset with them both.

What right did either of them have, accusing the Chancellor of such nonsense? Of accusing Anakin of cheating on Padmé? Obi-Wan, of course, wouldn’t know that was what he accused Anakin of but Padmé certainly did. She might as well have called Sheev _the other woman_! It hurt to know that she trusted him so little, to use Obi-Wan’s worries to accuse Anakin of cheating on her. He didn’t think she was that kind of person and he didn’t know where that put them. If she doesn’t trust him, where does that leave them?

What has he done that made her mistrust him so much?

A bunch of senators and lobbyists exit the Chancellor’s office and Anakin offers them a cursory bow. Mas Amedda walks out a few minutes later, looking annoyed and a little sleep deprived, but he gives Anakin a small smile as he walks past.

“That was the last meeting of the day, Knight Skywalker, so feel free to bother the Chancellor into relaxing.” Neerav, Sheev’s secretary, says teasingly and Anakin feels his spirits lift just a little. Maybe the Chancellor will have some advice for him?

Sheev is standing in front of the vast wall of see through durasteel when Anakin ducks into the room, his spine straight and hands held lightly at the small of his back. It’s easy to see why people trust him so much like this, he seems strong and steady.

“Anakin, my boy, come here and look out the window with me.” Sheev says warmly and Anakin goes to stand at his side.

The sun is high in the sky, making the surrounding buildings gleam and sparkle. The Qualex building in particular always looks stunning due to its angles making the light twist in such a way that it creates something like a rainbow, but only with three colors and the rainbow curves if the clouds shift just right. In the distance, standing tall like a beacon, the Jedi Temple looms over its neighbors, the heavy stone and concrete making the behemoth stick out like a sore thumb. And high above it, twinkling like a star, the spire looks strangely out of place on such an old building.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Sheev asks, his voice warm with a lazy kind of pride; the kind Anakin feels when Ahsoka manages a particularly difficult maneuver or figures out a difficult physics problem without asking for help.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Anakin answers because while he likes Coruscant well enough, he’s always liked Naboo’s rolling greenery better than the durasteel and concrete of the city-planet. Naboo is always beautiful – the sun shining down upon the glass dome of the civil center in the old capitol of Keren; Lake Varykino shimmering under the light of the two moons while the waves crest against stone; the rainbows that dot the swamps of the western region as the sun reflects off the leaves and bushes just right to twist and dance into each other, colors exploding in every direction.

Is it any wonder that a planet like that birthed Padmé?

“When I first came here, I thought I’d miss the trees and lakes of Naboo, the soft whispers of the Jabber birds, and I did for a time. I used to wake up and want nothing more than to go home, but now…Coruscant is as much my home as Naboo. And she is beautiful.” Sheev says and Anakin can understand that. The Chancellor has had to stay here so much longer than he intended, it was only natural that he’d come to love the city-planet as much as his home planet. “Well, enough of an old man’s sentiments. How are you doing, Anakin? I heard your last campaign ended well because of that quick, analytical mind of yours.” The older man continues, turning away from the window to smile at him.

“I’m well, Chancellor. The mission to Nyantie was hardly just my doing, Ahsoka performed wonderfully. She managed to talk their Elder Council into agreeing to stay in the Republic all by herself, while also managing to keep two assassinations from happening. She really should be commended.” Anakin brags and he doesn’t care that it’s not the Jedi way to take pride in the accomplishments of their padawans.

“My, young Ms. Tano is a credit to you, it seems! She seems to compliment your skillset rather nicely.” Sheev says and he reaches out to give Anakin’s shoulder a squeeze.

“I do my best with her, sir, and it helps that she’s so talented and smart. You know, during the hyperspace jump back here, she finished the last practice exams for the NAVCORE with an eight-seven! That’s better than most of the Admirals in the GAR scored after extensive, specialized training at an Academy or University. She told me that she’s thinking of getting a combat pilot’s license, once she’s a Senior Padawan of course, since you have to at least be the age of majority to qualify for one.” Anakin gushes and he didn’t care that he might be boring the Chancellor with these details. He was so proud of Snips and wanted to tell everyone all about her – she was only fifteen and outperforming full grown adults! She was his padawan and constantly held to higher standards, a commander in the GAR during a galactic civil war, and she was holding herself together better than _he_ was a lot of the time.

His padawan was _awesome_ and deserved recognition!

“Oh, what a truly impressive accomplishment; tell her congratulations from me. I imagine the Jedi Order must be very proud of her.” Sheev says warmly as he goes to sit down on the short, plush sofa in his sitting area. Anakin followed in his shadow, too wired to allow himself to sit next to him.

“They let her use her score for her last flight module course, which she of course passed with flying colors. She’ll be getting her pilot’s bead tonight; I wish I could invite you to the ceremony. Master Tekka, our lead flight instructor, said she’s one of the most promising padawan’s from her age group!” Anakin gushes and he’s pacing just a little to expel some of the energy. He remembers, rather belatedly, that he left his spinning cube back in his room so he can’t fiddle with it.

“It is a shame that the Jedi don’t allow outsiders to observe their ceremonies, but from what I understand of them, I suppose it’s to discourage pride in one’s accomplishments?” Sheev asks, curious as always about the philosophies the Jedi taught.

“Yes, that’s a part of it, a Jedi doesn’t do anything for pride’s sake. Pride is a negative emotion, leading to feelings of selfishness, greed, and anger. We do the things we do in service to the Republic, not in service of the self. However, I think not allowing outsiders to observe our ceremonies is also an additional way to ensure that none of the padawans have fallen prey to attachments. If you have someone to invite, you’re doing it wrong.” Anakin says a little bitterly.

He wanted to invite his mother to every one of his ceremonies. He used to imagine her sitting in the back somewhere, pride on her face and a hug waiting for him, and it made things easier. As he got older, he used to go out of his way to try and get Obi-Wan to allow the Chancellor, at least, to attend them - surely it wouldn’t be that much of a hardship to allow the leader of the Republic access to their ceremonies? And if he came to Anakin’s, he could come to everyone’s and maybe the Senate would understand them a little more, allowing them more of a budget and maybe more support on dangerous missions. It would have been a good idea, he’s sure of it, but it was never allowed.

No outsiders in the Jedi Temple, unless invited for business. (Or, in some cases, snuck in under the cover of darkness and breaking into security cameras. He _still_ can’t believe he managed to sneak Padmé into the Temple that one time. It was a wonderful night, but he’d been on edge for the rest of the week, waiting for someone to pop out and expose him.)

“I’ve always thought having pride in the things you do encourages you to do your best, but then again, I’m not Force sensitive. I’m sure things are different when you can reorder the natural order of things with a thought.” Sheev says, sounding strange. Anakin’s trying to puzzle out the strangeness when the older man continues with: “I would have liked to see all your ceremonies, though, if only to ensure you knew how proud of you I was. I know you’re not allowed to feel pride in your accomplishments, but I like to think that I have enough in you to count as two whole people.”

“I know you’re proud of me.” Anakin says shyly. He doesn’t understand why, he messed up more often than not and has more flaws than a malfunctioning battle droid, but the Chancellor is proud of him despite it all. He’s a good person like that.

He’s still too keyed up to sit down - he wants something to take apart and fix it or maybe do a series of jump-spins but he also wants to spend time with the Chancellor and not have to be anything other than what he is. It’s nice to be here, to be around someone who accepts him for all his flaws and doesn't want him to change. And he’s allowed to visit the Chancellor - the Council doesn’t like it, but Anakin can bend the truth and say he’s here because of the war.

He wants to ask the older man why Padmé doesn’t trust him anymore, but he also wants to ignore the whole problem and hope it goes away on it’s own.

“You seem full of energy today, my boy.” Sheev says, a tiny reprimand wrapped in concern. Anakin hummed a little, used to the gentle way Sheev tries to work around his sometimes over-the-top energy spikes.

“Sorry.” Anakin says quietly and stops pacing in front of the sofa. The Chancellor smiles at him warmly and pats the seat next to him. Anakin doesn’t want to sit just yet, but he must be giving Sheev a headache from forcing the older man to watch him go back and forth in front of him. Anakin sits down, reaching for the Force to try to gain some calm.

(Obi-Wan has always said that the Force _was_ the calm, that once you sink deep enough into the Force, you achieve true serenity. In Anakin’s experience, though, the Force was the exact opposite of calm - it was every thought you’ve ever had; every movement in your past, present, future, and every possibility in between; every breath you’ve taken and will ever take; and every beat of your heat all over each other. It was the exact opposite of calm, because life wasn’t calm at all and the Force _was_ life.

Needless to say, reaching for the Force to gather calmness to him almost never worked. And today was no different.)

“Don’t apologize, my dear, you’ve hardly done anything wrong.” Sheev says and he pats Anakin’s knee, effortlessly moving to close the distance between their bodies on the sofa.

“It occurs to me that you might not have heard about this, as it happened while you were away. Admiral Tarkin has petitioned his home planet of Undine to allow for the immigration of any clone troopers that wish to settle there after the war ends and they are retired from active duty. Senator Harro seems to be looking into the issue as he’s talking with other senators about refugee numbers and funding issues around such things, so we should be getting an answer from him soon enough.” Sheev says and he snakes his arm around Anakin’s back, his hand easily curving around Anakin’s hip.

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll have to look into the proposal, assuming Harro actually extends a formal one, to see if it’ll be a good fit into the bill. I’ve already talked to a few other senators to allow for similar things and their proposals have already been written into the bill proper. It’ll be nice to have a few planets to spread the GAR out into, to lessen the idea of some kind of, I don’t know, military takeover of planets. And it’ll give the men a few different options for permanent homes.” Anakin babbles, nervous at all the overt touching. He always gets like this when he’s been away for too long, it’s very annoying, and he knows it makes Sheev feel bad whenever he can’t hide his flinches at all the touching.

He always has to get reused to it.

“It’s exciting that this passion project of yours is getting so much traction, my dear. Do you have a deadline for when the bill should be drafted?” Sheev asks.

“I want to submit it to the Senate at the start of the next term. By that time, we should have all the funding and legal stuff worked out, I’ll have to touch base with Senator Harro soon to see what exactly he has in mind to offer - I won’t accept any offer that doesn’t include the clones being treated as full Republic citizens, so I’ll have to ensure that Harro understands that. Not to mention we’ll have to figure out how to offer things like back pay and how their healthcare is going to work - talking with Kamino has been a _nightmare_ about that, let me tell you - so it’ll be a few months before we can even introduce the bill for debate.” Anakin continues and obediently curls closer when Sheev tugs on him midway through his babbling.  His other hand settles on Anakin’s leg, a little above his knee, and Anakin has to swallow ungrateful words.

He needs to get reused to people touching him.

“Have you talked to the Jedi about this?” The Chancellor asks and Anakin shakes his head, still trying to get words to work.

He’s not sure why he hasn’t told Obi-Wan or any of the members of the council about this - surely Obi-Wan would approve of his efforts and maybe have some advice to give him. Not to mention that he’s a great negotiator and it would be very helpful to utilize some of his previous connections in the senate for this project of his; and yet every time he tried to tell the older man about it, something made him pause.

Maybe it was the way that Obi-Wan used to tell him to forget his mother and Kitster. Maybe it was the way that every Jedi Master he talked to as a padawan had always told him that slavery, while evil and a blight on civilization, wasn’t the responsibility the Jedi Order. Maybe it was the way that so many of the Jedi called their troopers by number and never asked if they had names, hobbies, or quirks. Maybe it was the echo of their distrust and unease from when he was ten lingering in his brain.

He didn’t know, but for whatever reason the end game was the same: He hadn’t told the Jedi about the Clone Personhood Bill.

“They’ll support it, when the time comes.” Anakin says instead of admitting that he hasn’t actually talked about it with any of them.

“I hope you’re right about this, dear one; I’d hate for your faith to be abused again.” Sheev says and Anakin is heartened to hear it.

He leans sideways to rest his head on Sheev’s shoulder and it’s taken a few minutes, but he is finding the loose hold comforting. It’s a little suffocating, but Sheev is trying to be comforting and that means a lot to him. He’s pressed closely against the Chancellor’s side, curled into him the way Padmé sometimes curls against Anakin during a movie, and he’s uncomfortable with the fact that his chest could clearly be felt like this. But Sheev knows about his body and doesn’t care, and it should be fine to settle against him.

But it’s been a long campaign and he’s still uncomfortable with physical touch. Obi-Wan and Padmé’s ridiculous accusations are also not helping the situation.

“I have to teach a class soon, so I should probably go.” Anakin says and starts to pull away. Sheev tightens his arm, not letting Anakin up, and he can feel his stomach twist. He looks over at the older man in confusion.

“You’re uncomfortable.” Sheev says, disappointed and hurt. Anakin’s bottom lip wobbled for a moment before he could control it - he never liked hurting the Chancellor like this.

(He never liked what came after, but it was for his own good, _he knew that._ )

“No, no, I’m fine.” Anakin protested and settled back against his side to prove it. He was breathing quicker though and his heart was fluttering in a way that usually meant something was going to vibrate apart nearby. He wrapped his arms around Sheev’s body and hoped he didn’t feel it when Anakin flinched as Sheev ran a hand down Anakin’s back, following the line of his spine.

“Oh, my dear boy, now you’re _lying_ to me.” Sheev says and Anakin can feel his eyes burn. He disappoints so many people in his life and he really just wants one person, just one, that he doesn’t do this to constantly.

“I’m not.” He says weakly and lets Sheev pull him close, almost in the older man’s lap. One of Sheev’s hands settles low on his back, just at the start of the curve of his rear, while the other curls at the back of his neck, pressing his hair down against his neck. His neck is clammy and he’s pretty sure he’s trembling. He’s not used to this, it’s been too long since he’s been held, and Padmé accused him of cheating on her.

She accused him of cheating on her with the one person who loves him just as much as she does, even if in a very different way. He’s never been able to explain to her about his weird touch aversion when he comes back from the front, from long periods away from the Core in general, and if she saw this she’d misunderstand what was happening for sure.

“I’m sorry.” Anakin says and he’s mortified to realize that he’s crying. He feels nauseous and his skin is crawling and he’s the worst. There’s something so incredibly wrong with him!

“It’s okay, my dear.” Sheev says warmly and Anakin doesn’t deserve to be forgiven for this. He _lied to the Chancellor!_ He lied right to his face and so badly it was obvious! “It’s okay, my boy, I know this is hard for you. I understand, shhh.” He continued and Anakin hid his face in the man’s shoulder.

The man’s hands roamed his back, rubbing soothing circles, and Anakin concentrated on his breathing to keep from hyperventilating. He knew how this went, it was always so uncomfortable at first but then it got better. He just needed to keep himself together long enough for the blankness to settle over him.

(He wants his mother, but she’s gone and dead and it’s all his fault. He wants Obi-Wan, but he’s upset and Anakin’s been ignoring his comms and that’s his fault. He wants Padmé, but she doesn’t trust him and he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

His chest is pressed too close to Sheev’s body and he can’t stop _crying_.)

“Anakin, you’ve really let this get bad.” Sheev says after a few minutes have past. Anakin’s shoulders are starting to feel weird - not quite hurting or aching, but not comfortable either.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Anakin mumbles and Sheev sighs. He’s so disappointed and Anakin wants to curl into a ball and vanish.

“Anakin, come here. I can’t let you go out like this, it’s not good for you.” Sheev says and Anakin does pull away this time, letting go of him and spring up. Sheev stands with him though, his fingers gripping his chin to hold him in place. “Look at me, dear, look at me.” Sheev says and Anakin does as he’s told.

“I know you don’t like it, but what if someone touches your shoulder and you break down in a hallway? Think of how embarrassed you’d be, what it would look like. If it happened here in the senate, you’d just be embarrassed, but imagine what it would be like if it happened in the temple?” Sheev continued and Anakin couldn’t feel his toes.

Sheev pulled him into a hug and for someone who was smaller than Anakin, he certainly could hold Anakin in place. He supposed that wasn’t that odd, Padmé usually managed to manhandle him well enough and she was even tinier than Sheev.

“I don’t want to.” Anakin says and he’s never said no before. He’s wanted to, but he’s never once actually gone through with it. Sheev pulls away from him, holding his shoulders and looking his face over.

“You’re still crying just from us sitting next to each other and your hands are shaking - even the mechanical one is shaking, showing off that it’s clearly a mental problem not a physical one. I’m trying to help you, Ani, let me help you.” Sheev says and Anakin knew he was right. “It’s just a little while and then you can go - you’ll have plenty of time to prepare for your next class and you won’t be a mess when you’re with the children. Think of what you might do if one of them grabs your hand when you’re like this?”

Anakin doesn’t want to imagine it. He doesn’t know what he might do, but he knows himself enough to know that he’s too full of violence to risk it. Maybe he’d just throw up on them but what if he threw them with the Force? He had just thought it himself - he has a severe problem and Sheev knows how to help him. Sheev knew what was wrong with him in the first place and knew how to fix it and Anakin needed his help.

He nodded and regretted it immediately when acid came halfway up his throat before he swallowed it back down. Sheev signed in a put upon manner and let go of his shoulders to sit back down. Anakin fidgeted for a few seconds before the Chancellor reached a hand out to him and he didn’t have any way to stall. He took the man’s hand and eased himself down onto his lap, his head pounding and stomach churning. This was easier when he was smaller.

“Come here, dear, that’s a good boy.” Sheev says and Anakin squeezes his eyes shut, shaking and trying to block out everything. Sheev’s hands are on his back again and Anakin arranges himself so he’s pressed front to front to the older man; it’s uncomfortable but that’s the point. The overexposure to touch will break his temporary phobia so he can go about his life, Sheev has told him all about it and given him the studies. He just has to settle long enough for it to work.

His back burns as Sheev’s hands run down it and he wants to crawl out of his skin. He hates the way his mind is so messed up - he never has this problem with Padmé, but he has to interact with more than just her throughout the day.

“Everything’s fine, Anakin, you know I’d never hurt you.” Sheev says and Anakin knows that, he does, but he hates this. He settles his own hands on the back of the sofa, careful of his mechanical hand, and he has to stop crying soon, doesn’t he? He rests his head down on Sheev’s shoulder and breathes as Sheev’s hands clutch his hips. He can feel his breathing slowing down, and welcomes it. That familiar blankness is starting to come in and he’s so thankful he almost shakes apart with it.

His tears dry up and his body relaxes, hands unclenching, and this is what he was waiting for. He can’t really feel his body anymore, which means he can finally stop concentrating on its sensations to try and clear his cluttered head out.

He’s a grown man now, he can’t fall apart at the seams like this every time someone touches his shoulders or sits down next to him. Just because he’s been without human contact for a long time - but, wait, something about that doesn’t seem right. Anakin frowns to himself and tries to work out the knot in his thinking. He wasn’t in isolation or anything like that - he was surrounded by his men and Admiral Hyick was around too. He didn’t mind it when Rex threw his arm around his shoulders and laughed so hard he almost fell over; or when Glasscase dramatically “swooned” onto his side to reenact a funny story. He didn’t mind it when Snips leapt onto his back and yelled “charge” or when Henrix had tackled them and almost sent them flying into the wall of the boat they were on. (Okay, he minded that one, but more because Snips could have been hurt if he hadn’t controlled his collision.)

And hadn’t he been around Obi-Wan and the other Jedi for at least half a week already? Why was his weird touch aversion coming to the surface right now? He’d seen Padmé last night too and had been fine.

 _It was that ambush dinner!_ Anakin realizes with a start. It must have been the stress from not knowing what he was going to be in trouble about, then the added stress of the accusations they were both throwing at Sheev. They certainly hadn’t meant to stress him out to this degree, but it had been enough and now he’s here. His eyes catch sight of the clock on the wall and it takes a few long moments for the numbers to register in his head. The class he has to teach is going to start in thirty minutes, he needs to go. How long does it take to get to the temple from here, again?

“My class is soon.” Anakin says and his voice sounds weird, does it always sound so monotone and deep?

“Well, you seem much better, so I’m going to let you go.” Sheev says and his voice is nice. Rumbling and close. Anakin shuffles back - when had they gotten _that_ close, he must have been making Sheev awfully warm - but stops when Sheev takes his chin in his grip again. “You did very well, my boy.” He says again and Anakin thinks he should smile. Maybe?

“Thank you, sir.” He says and manages to make it to his feet. The room seems so much brighter, he’s pretty sure there’s at least one extra color he’s seeing now, but that is pretty usual for after these sessions. He never feels quite right in the immediate.

What was he doing again?

Sheev stands and puts his hand on the small of his back, pushing him towards the door. Right, he has to go back to the temple, he has...something. A meeting? No, no, a class.

“We’ll talk again, soon, my dear.” Sheev says and he leans forward to hug him. Has Sheev always felt this cold? It’s like the wind of Hoth or the lick of Dooku when he’s pissed - but that comparison doesn’t make sense. HIs hand slides down Anakin’s back, lower and lower, and then it’s on his ass and something about that seems strange. Sheev’s lips touch his jaw and then Anakin pulls away and leaves.

He has…something to do. The temple, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took a little longer than I thought to get this out, I was at a wedding this past Saturday and thus preparing for that took a little bit more of my time than I thought it would.
> 
> (Also, if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, please point them out I have given this only the most basic of lookovers.)


	6. It Sings To Me Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see Ahsoka finally and Padmé learns some more horrifying things, and only one of them has to do with Anakin. 
> 
> Alternately titled: Well, this just keeps getting better and better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, fam, buckle up because we get to see some more of Palpatine being creepy AF. It's towards the end and the lead up is very blatant, in that it's a recording, so you'll see it coming. The rest of the chapter is fine in regards to triggers though, so take care and think of your headspace while reading.
> 
> Also there's a hyperlink to the image of the dress that Anakin is forced into so you can have a better visual than me trying to describe it. Just as a mental note, Anakin has a bigger chest than the model. And bigger shoulders.

Ahsoka sits perched on a stool as Anakin works under his starfighter. She’s reading over the schematics to his fighter, trying to figure out what Anakin is fixing from the location and tools being used, and she thinks she’s narrowed it down to at least two possible things. He’s either fiddling with the fuel combustion corridor or fixing the electrical lines connecting the radio to the intergalactic relay transmitter. If he’s fiddling with the corridor, then he’s either cleaning it out so it flies longer without refueling or he could be patching a damaged casting - it does get rather hot inside and the durasteel contrasts in space something fierce. If it’s the electrical lines, then he could be doing anything from replacing frayed wires to rerouting them to someplace else, for what reason Ahsoka doesn’t know. She doesn’t think there was anything in the last campaign that damaged the underbelly of Skyguy’s fighter though, so it wouldn’t really make sense if he was fiddling with the electrical lines.

So, he must be working on the corridor, then. She looks at the scattered tools around the stool’s feet, recognizing some of them and others - like a weird hook thing with three prongs on the end - she doesn’t think she’s ever seen before. She can’t see a smolder iron and there haven’t been any sparks whatsoever, so he can’t be fixing any damaged bits. Meaning, he must be cleaning it out. She swallows and lets the datapad go, floating it over to the nearby work table.

“So, judging by the tools being used and where you are underneath the fighter, I’ve deducted that you are cleaning the fuel combustion corridor.” Ahsoka announces, quite confident in her answer.

“Very good, Snips. That’s exactly correct. What made you rule out me working on the electrical lines?” Skyguy asks and Ahsoka kicks her legs as she answers.

“There wasn’t any indication that your fighter got hit around the electrical lines during the last campaign, so there isn’t any reason you would be working on them. And I handed you a turn-kick wrench, which is only used for metal fastenings, so it wouldn’t make sense for you to ask for it if you were working with wires.” Ahsoka explains.

Skyguy rolls out from under the fighter, a smear of grease across the bridge of his nose and hair a disarray. There’s dirt and what looks like something slimy - maybe a combination of the fuel and some condensation that rapidly hardened and then cooled into something gross and slimy - across his grey work tunic. There’s grey stains on his work pants from some other project and his arms are covered in black, light blue, and purple grease stains from the various fuel and fluids that sit in the fuel combustion corridor. He has sweat marks on the tunic and smells like a mixture between leftover fuel, ozone, and lightly rotting fish.

Behind the fighter, Padawan Xirtei trips over a tethering cord because xe was staring at Skyguy’s back (probably his ass, if Ahsoka was being honest with herself. Which, she’s not, because _eww_.) and Skyguy turns at the sound, concerned. Xirtei pops up, hair tentacles a vivid purple in sheer mortification, and calls out that they're okay.  Ahsoka wrinkles her nose and looks back at her Master, trying to see what it is that so many other people see in him.

She supposes that he’s attractive, with a nice face and very pretty fingers. His eyes are very blue and she’s read that intense staring can be a desirable thing, even if all it makes her feel is the urge to bare her teeth and snarl. He has very broad shoulders and his arm muscles are very defined, but she can’t really see the appeal all the same. Same thing with his legs - they show that he's a good runner and can kick through pretty thick walls (that was  _the coolest thing_ she's ever seen in her life! He just  _kicked a wall down_ with his legs! BY HIMSELF! Skyguy was the coolest ever!!!) but she can't see why that would make him attractive??

(He does have a very pretty smile, though, and when he's happy and mildly sleep deprived, his happiness is infectious. And, yes, if he wears a too tight shirt or just a smaller tunic, you can kinda see his boobs, but why would you find that attractive? They're for babies so....???? Humans are weird.)

He’s _Skyguy!_ A dork that giggles at bad puns and cries at ridiculous holodramas. He doesn’t know how to flirt to save his life, never mind anyone else’s, and can quote every line from several operas - some of them about cannibalism and the overthrowing of a democratically elected leader! He snaps when he’s upset and yells when he’s worried and never thinks about the risks to his body when he jumps into dangerous situations. He gets easily distracted whenever he sees a baby of any species and yet can kick her ass seven times before breakfast. His ears turn red when someone makes a crass sex joke around him but he can give a very through reproductive lesson on literally any species they come across with a straight face. He never puts his damn shoes away when he kicks them off. He can speak ten languages - TEN! - but never fails to give her shit for her core accent whenever she tries speaking Mando’a. He pushes her to train better, to fight better, but will still order her away when shit really hits the fan. He gives great hugs, but she can’t see the appeal in kissing him. He can sing like he belongs on a stage and dance to just about anything, be he also makes up songs for peeling radishes and onions! 

She tilts her head as she watches Skyguy grab a water bottle and drink. There’s a bead of sweat making its way down the side of his face and all she can think is how badly he needs a shower.

 “I don’t get it.” She says aloud and Skyguy stops chugging the water to give her a quizzical look.

 “Oh, no, I got this lesson - I was thinking of something else, sorry.” She says quickly, so as not to make him give her more homework than she already has.

 “Alllrrright....I’m going to take a shower and then I want to go over your government module.” Skyguy announces and Ahsoka groans, leaning back on her seat.

 “No, you totally don’t have to do that! My grades are totally up, I can ask Master Kenobi for help, really!” She protests and Skyguy snorts before he reaches out to boop her nose, like she’s a youngling! She scowls at him.

 “Obi-Wan is in a meeting and I’m still looking over your work until _everything_ is out of the yellow.” He says and Ahsoka groans again.

 “It’s not my fault I’m in yellow! There’s a war going on, I’ve missed some classes! I’ll catch up, it’s not that big a deal.” She gripes and hops down as Skyguy starts to make his way out of the hanger.

 “I know you’re just in yellow because of our assignments, that’s why I’m going to look over everything with you, just to make sure you’re not cutting corners or leaving anything out because you think it’s obvious. These modules are designed to gauge what _you_ know, so I want to make sure you show them you know it all.” Skyguy says and Ahsoka groans again, stomping her foot for good measure.

 “Fine, I guess I’ll go grab my course work and meet you in your rooms.” She says sullenly and Skyguy laughs, light bubbling out of him and winding around her. She bites her lips to stop the smile from coming up, wanting to keep her sulk intact. She’s displeased and she wants it known!

 “Okay, I’ll see you soon then.” Skyguy says and they split up at the next fork.

 Normally, she and Skyguy would be sharing a room and it would be Master Kenobi that would be placed elsewhere. But here she was, still roomed in the Initiates Wings and having to make countless trips between her room and her master’s. If not for the war, she’d probably be more annoyed by that, but she was hardly the only padawan in this situation - with so few Jedi, it was easier to just not move people around when they were only going to be in their rooms for a short while anyway. And it wasn’t like her room and Skyguy’s were very far - they were only separated by two floors - Barriss and her master were separated by seventeen and she had to take two different elevators to get to her master’s suite!

 The door to her room slides open and she takes a few moments to look the small space over. Her sheets and blanket were still gone, so unless she got a laundry delivery this evening she was going to be camping out on Master Kenobi’s couch again, and when she opened her little fridge it was empty of her favorite sugary drink. In its place was a piece of flimsi that she plucked up and tossed away, already knowing that it was from the Nutritional Board scolding her for drinking too many of them in a set time period. You drink seventeen of the things in a row _one time_ and throw up all over Master Yaddle and they never let you do anything ever again!

 She changes out of her tunics while she’s here, giving Skyguy a little time to himself, and hunts around for her comfy sleepwear. She had to have Skyguy stitch her name and ID number into them so they’d get returned to her after laundry was done and for some reason the droids never made up their minds over whether the comfy shirt and pants were to be hung up or folded, so she always had to hunt for them. Today the soft yellow shirt was hung up in her closet, behind her kata training tunic that was starting to go a little grey-brown, while the equally soft and light green pants were folded in her underwear drawer.

 She’ll never understand the sorting algorithm for the laundry droids.

 She goes to just pull the pants on when she remembers to check her wall calendar.

 “Oh, c’mon, really?” She mutters when she sees that it marks the start of her period sometime this week - because of course it does, this is her life. She can’t have her period at times that are convenient, like when she’s on the _Resolute_ and can stuff battle bandages into her underwear for maximum protection. (She was so embarrassed when she realized that she had started her period and _had run out of supplies!_ But then Kix - bless his awkward, stumbling soul - had suggested the heavy duty bandages and it was like the sky opened on a cloudy day. She didn’t have to change them multiple times a day! They could handle her, even at her worst, all day long! And being on the  _Resolute_ meant that when her cramps got really bad, she could curl up on Skyguy's bunk and whine pathetically until he made her a special tea that worked miracles. WAY better than any of the pain meds that the Healers would deal out when she went to them.)

(And sometimes, if things were especially bad, he'd rub at the spot right between her shoulder blades and that made her head go all gooey.)

She grumbles as she hunts for some panties and then a small overnight bag because there is no way she’s wandering the temple holding her tampons, just….no. She stuffs a handful of those in, drops her datapad and the stationary module holobrick in, and grabs her pillow for good measure. There, now it looks like she actually needs the bag and isn’t just using it to hide her feminine products.

 (Though, all things considered, she’s sure that Skyguy would have some pads for her if she needed to borrow one. He always had some in his ‘fresher but he never had tampons and she much preferred those to pads if she wasn't expected to go to onto a battleground so she always brought her own.)

 By the time she made it to Skyguy and Master Kenobi’s rooms, Skyguy was sitting on the ratty couch and toweling his hair. Artoo rolled up to greet her, his little extender holding out a bottle of Spritz for her.

 “Artooie, you are my favorite!” Ahsoka squeals and eagerly takes the offered drink.

 “The Nutritional Board raided your fridge again?” Skyguy asks teasingly and Ahsoka kicks his leg lightly as she walks by him to sit down on the floor next to her bag, opening it up and pulling out her datapad and module holobrick to sit down on the little table nearby.

 “I think my laundry droid is telling on me.” Ahsoka says as she hooks up the holobrick to the large screen on Skyguy’s wall so they both don’t have to hunch over the stupid thing to see any of her tests, quizzes, or various bits of homework.

 (The screen has clearly been repurposed from one of the commissary menu screens with the casting from what looks like a smattering of droid scrap. It’s also the fourth screen that Skyguy has smuggled into his and Master Kenobi’s rooms and the biggest one yet. She suspects that he’s also been making them heavier and heavier to try and discourage the quartermaster from making off with them. Yes, they’re not supposed to have non-regulation screens in their rooms, but she hardly saw the harm when the rooms hardly got used anyway. And besides, it did make going over her coursework much easier when she didn’t have to squint so much.)

 “Wouldn’t shock me.” Skyguy says and his voice has that strange flatness that he sometimes gets when talking about life at the temple. She signs into the temple’s educational server and stands up to go into the kitchen to get something to munch on. She grabs a bag of chips and heads back out to take a seat next to Skyguy.

 He’s looking over her latest government test and she crosses her arms as she waits him out. She didn’t do that bad, really! Sure, she got a few things wrong and her essay portion was met with a lot of strongly worded red ink, but that hardly meant that Skyguy had to go over it like her old crechemaster!

 “Okay, I can see why your instructor didn’t appreciate your essay.” Skyguy says and Ahsoka scoffs.

 “It worked when we did it!” She protests.

 “It worked in the most basic of senses because the other option was literally an invasion force that would have destroyed the planet’s eco-structure beyond belief in an effort to strip it of its natural resources in a quick and cheap manner. That’s not a typical situation, which this was supposed to be. The Jedi were peacekeepers for thousands of years and _typically_ in arguments of that nature, we would be the mediators that would try to reach a compromise that made both parties happy. Or, we would be the ones to _arrest_ a party if they were doing something illegal - we wouldn’t go set up our own blockade to prevent an invading force and then - how did you put it? Oh, right, ‘rain down terror and slag until the invading army fucked off back to who knows where.’” Skyguy says dryly and Ahsoka feels her lekku curl at the tips in a small bit of embarrassment.

 So, maybe her language wasn’t the most professional in her essay…

 “Okay, I may have misunderstood the point of the assignment.” She mutters and Skyguy grins at her, reaching out to tap her lekku in a quick two-three pattern. She squawks in laughter and digs her own fingers into his side, smirking as he lets out loud laughter and tries to wiggle away from her.

 “Okay, okay, have mercy, mercy!” Skyguy shouts once he hits the arm of the couch and can’t go anywhere else.

 “HA!” She says victoriously and backs off enough for him to sit back up and try to straighten out his hair. It doesn’t really work, but that’s more because his hair looks like a rats nest than anything to do with her – he hardly ever brushes it unless he’s going somewhere important. (Or seeing Padmé Amidala, but she tried not to think too deeply about such things – but, really, _what about him is even attractive??_ Does Senator Amidala not know that he has eaten spiders and beetles and _worms?)_

 “Okay, for your essay portion, why don’t we read up on some of the missions Obi-Wan went on as a senior padawan – he’s not called the Negotiator for nothing, you know.” Skyguy says and starts pulling up some reports. She wrinkles her nose and groans.

She hates government! 

* * *

 

He’s dreaming.

 He knows he is, because he can smell Nabooian Iris’ and feel grass under his neck and last he recalls he was on Coruscant. He can smell the water from the nearby lake, can hear the Shaaks bleating in the distance, and he can feel Padmé’s soft hands on his arms. She’s holding him down lightly, perched on his stomach, and he doesn’t dare open his eyes just in case that ruins everything. He can feel her hair tickle his nose as she leans down to kiss him tenderly, her lips soft and demanding. He sighs into her mouth, opening his lips easily to let her tongue in, and she shifts above him to rub just lightly against the front of his crossed tabards. Her fingers press harder against his skin and that’s a distracting enough sensation that he ends up startling himself awake.

 The mid afternoon sun is shining through the window right into his face and he feels rather empty. There’s no one else in the room, Obi-Wan out with some of the members of the 212th while Snips has left to attend class, and the temple feels so stagnant and cramped. He loves and hates dreaming of Padmé – he loves it, because he loves everything to do with his wife, but he hates it because he can’t sense her in dreams. She’s not really with him and it makes him ache to realize that he should be feeling her mind just as much as her body and when he can’t find that, he feels like he's suffocating.

 He’s been ignoring Padmé for going on four days now and he’s surely going to be recalled to the front soon. He shouldn’t be so selfish to ignore her like this, what if he left before he apologized for it? He sits up a little and his chest feels tight, not unlike when he’s been thrown into something and had a rib crack, but he knows he’s not damaged.

 He wants to see Padmé; he can’t keep ignoring her comms and pretending that he can sleep in his little bed here without feeling like his heart is going to stop beating in his chest in his sleep. He can’t keep staring at the walls in his room and curling around his blanket like that will make the ache in his chest lessen. He can’t keep writing new subroutines to hide Artoo’s memory into and pretending that he’s not doing it just to avoid sleeping alone.

 He swings himself out of his bed and the world goes a little grey at the edges. He frowns when it snaps back into focus, trying to remember what he last ate and how many calories it was – he’s been on schedule, but thinking back, he thinks he gave too much of his lunch to Snips.   

  _/Are you alright? Your readings are weird./_ Artoo says as he rolls up to Anakin.

 “I’m fine; I just need something to eat.” Anakin says.

  _/Drink something too, you’re getting dehydrated. This is what happens when you recharge in the middle of the day!/_

 “I know, I know.” Anakin mutters and he goes to hunt down something to munch on and a drink. Padmé is probably at the Senate right now, so he really shouldn’t go see her, but he can go to their apartments and wait for her there.

 It’s easy to leave the temple during the daytime – people expect him to be out and about and as long as he leaves during a time when he isn’t supposed to be elsewhere, no one looks at him twice. But even as he waits for Artoo to hook himself up to the lift to get down the truly massive staircase, his stomach churns uneasily and he can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The last time he saw Padmé, she accused him of cheating on her essentially. What if she was still upset with him? He hadn’t figured out what he did wrong in the first place, so he wasn’t bringing anything to give to her in apology.

If he brought something, would that be admitting guilt? If he didn’t, would that be like saying he didn’t want to fix whatever he did wrong?

He chewed on the straw he’d put into his water container, thinking it over. He still had no idea what, exactly, he had done to give Padmé the idea that he would cheat on her, so he might have to actually come out and ask her. Padmé knew he wasn’t good with social cues so he’s sure she’d only be a little more upset with him, before she explained herself. And once he was told what he’d done, he’d never do it again and apologize. If he needed to get her something to make up for it, he could do it afterwards.

 Artoo makes an annoyed beep once the lift deposits him onto the bottom of the stairs and Anakin hums in the right places as he herds his friend over to the public docking port nearby. Artoo’s ranting takes them all the way through Anakin arranging transport for them to the apartments and by the time the little droid huffs out his last scathing insult, they’re halfway there and Anakin has bitten the straw into near ruin – he can feel that he’s managed to break the top into three parts and he really has to stop doing that to all of them.

 He lets himself into the apartments and it’s always a little weird not to hear Threepio puttering around or to feel Padmé in the apartments at all. He puts his water container on the counter in the kitchen and starts pulling out some ingredients to make something to eat. Maybe if he has dinner ready when she comes home, she won’t be as upset when he asks her what he did wrong. That seems like a solid plan…

 

* * *

 

“Well, at the very least they managed to renew the funding for the UPCNF. I thought for a moment there that it would end in a stalled vote again.” Threepio says, sounding sarcastic and cutting, and Padmé hums in agreement. Before the war started, funding for the Underprivileged Children’s Nutrient Fund program was a usual standard of business for the Senate – it used to be such a rote thing that it was the punchline for the first political joke that Padmé understood!

And now, after a solid five hours of _doing absolutely nothing_ they almost didn’t get the votes necessary to fund the program for another four years! What in the name of everything holy in the universe is wrong with her fellow senators?! Yes, she understood that the war was expensive and important, but that didn’t mean that the everyday lives of people just were put on hold because of it! She understood better than anyone else in the fucking building how expensive the war was! It was _her husband_ that was regularly shipped off to the front; it was her husband’s padawan that went with him into dangerous and sometimes fatal situations; she was one of the few senators that regularly had contact with the clone troopers and could tell them apart. She understood how expensive the war was, in a way that none of those other self-righteous assholes ever would!

 And yet that didn’t change the fact that life went on for everyone else. Just because there was a war going on, didn’t mean there wasn’t a family out there struggling to put food on the table and relying on the government to fund the programs necessary to ensure they could feed their kids! Just because there was a war going on, didn’t mean that there weren’t kids out there who relied on their schools to get them meals. And, _because of the war_ , there were more children in the already overworked and underserved orphanages and children’s homes across the galaxy, who needed the UPCNF to ensure they could afford enough food to feed all the mouths they cared for.

 “Mistress Padmé, you are clenching your jaw and I would recommend against that. Your dentist isn’t going to be happy with you if you come back in with more damage from grinding your teeth.” Threepio frets and she breathes out slowly, gathering her anger and outrage together into a small seed. Her anger at this was unnecessary as at the end of the voting process, they did fund it for another four years. It didn’t get a cut and it didn’t get postponed, so her anger wasn’t needed. 

 She breathed deep, letting all her rage bubble inside her belly, allowing herself one last moment of pure rage and righteous indignation, and then she gathered it all up and crushed it into the littlest of seeds. Rage was useful – it gave you passion, it gave you the strength to do what was necessary to change things, it burned your doubts and insecurities away so they were nothing – but like everything it was only good in moderation. The time for anger was past, so it was time to put it back into the ground so it could take root and sprout again, refreshed and new.

Anakin had told her that anger, to the Jedi, was an acknowledgement that you had done something wrong. That it was unnecessary and dangerous, that any victory you achieved with it was tainted by association, and if it was felt it was to be thrown away immediately. He struggled with it, all the time, because he felt everything so strongly and deeply and yet he had to act like he felt nothing. He was a raging ocean inside with so much just under the surface and they wanted him to be a pool, treated with chemicals so the water was clear and nothing was in it.

She admired that he was able to hide so well amongst them but also despaired that he had to.

She reached for her comm, opening it on the hope that maybe while she had been in session he had replied to her previous messages.

“Mistress Padmé, we appear to be home.” Threepio says and Padmé reaches for his hand while scrolling. Only Anakin would make a protocol droid with an anxiety problem coupled with sarcasm. And only Anakin would make her check her comm like a teenager waiting for confirmation that her date was taking her to a fancy ball – she can’t remember a time when Anakin had ever outright ignored her before and she doesn’t like it.

Her apartment smells like chili and cinnamon, with – unless her nose is deceiving her – honey and melted caramel.

“Oh dear, oh my, Master Ani is home! I haven’t prepared for him.” Threepio says anxiously, puttering off and leaving Padmé at the entrance. She puts her things down in a daze and walks into the kitchen where, sure enough, her husband is stirring something in a bowl and there are plates and eating utensils on the counter next to a large container that she didn’t even know she owned.

(Her entire family – bar her nieces (maybe) – would know what it was called but she is just lucky to know what the difference between a skillet and a pot is. Anakin had laughed for almost five minutes straight when she confessed that she didn’t know what half of the things in her kitchen were _called_ much less how to use them.)

“Hi.” Anakin says after a few moments. He’s clearly nervous, stirring whatever is in the bowl more wildly and staring down at it like he actually needs to pay attention to it. (Maybe he does? She knows some recipes call for “folding” and that sounded complicated enough that you’d need to look at what you were doing…)

“Hi.” She says back. Anakin makes an nervous tick of a sound – a cross between clearing his throat and humming; she’s heard a few lizards on Naboo make similar sounds, which she finds endearing – and then he turns to the counter to pour the contents of the bowl into what looks like a very small cake pan. (Is it even a cake pan? Are they called something different when they’re tiny? Questions she has literally _never wondered in her entire life_ , this is what Anakin Skywalker does to her.)

(No one can know.)

~~Goddess, she wants everyone to know.~~

“How have you been?” She asks because the silence is starting to get to her. Anakin fiddles with the knob on the large container and sprinkles some kind of spice over the contents in the little cake pan before putting it in the oven.

“Alright, I taught a class and fixed Master Windu’s personal Starfighter – he got a hit that took out his guns and damaged the hyperdrive.” Anakin says and Padmé goes over to the refrigerator to grab drinks for them both.

“Oh, that’s…that’s good.” She says and wants to die. _That’s good?_ Really, that’s all she can say right now?

“I’m sorry!” Anakin blurts out suddenly. She turns around and he’s moved to be right in front of her. He needs a bell, she swears. “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you, I didn’t mean to and I won’t ever do it again, I promise! I’m so sorry, really, Padmé, I was just hurt and being stupid and it won’t happen ever again.” He continues in a rush.

She reaches up and touches his cheek, letting him press into her palm. She’s missed him.

“I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean for that dinner to go so badly. I was just concerned about you and I didn’t mean for it to feel like we were ganging up on you or anything.” She says. He opens his mouth but then something dings and he pulls away to attend to it.

“The chili’s ready.” Anakin says and Padmé’s stomach chooses that moment to make a loud, embarrassing noise of approval.   

Dinner feels more awkward that it should. There’s a weird tension in the air and Anakin shoves food into his mouth at a truly alarming rate. He usually adds more spices to his chili, knowing that he has to make it mild for her taste buds, but tonight it doesn’t seem to occur to him. He finishes his portion of the meal faster than she does and flees back into the kitchen, which he never does. They make it a habit to sit at the table until they’re both done, if only to catch up.

 _/He thinks you’re mad at him./_ Artoo warbles quietly as soon as the water turns on in the kitchen, meaning Anakin is starting on the dishes.

“What? I’m not mad at him.” She says, confused and worried. So he ignored her for a few days, that was fine – she offended him and it was understandable that he needed space after that. She would too, if he had offended her. (Though, she would have at the very least responded to her text comms.)

 _/Well, you’d best tell him that because his processor is caught in a loop in trying to figure out how to make you not mad at him./_ Artoo replies and then goes to distract Threepio so he doesn’t try to go into the kitchen. He always gets so offended whenever Anakin does the dishes.

Anakin is spooning the leftover chili into a container for later when she enters the kitchen a few moments later, holding her plate and utensils like an unsure child, and while he doesn’t turn around the kitchenware in her hands tugs itself out of her grip and floats over to the sink. He’s always careful when he grabs things out of her hands with the force, does it slow and with a warning tug to ensure she lets go before she accidentally cuts herself on anything sharp, and she’s heard all about how much Obi-Wan disapproved of such things, something about it being showy behavior. She can see that argument, a little, in that she’s sure her parents would have constantly been telling her and her older sister to just walk to the kitchen like normal instead of constantly floating everything around the house.

“I’m sorry! Whatever it is that I did that made you think I’d ever cheat on you, I’m so sorry that I made you think that and I’ll never do it again; you just have to tell me what it was that I did and  promise, I’ll never do it again!” Anakin bursts out as he drops something that clangs into the sink and turns to look at her properly. His hands are covered in soap suds and he’s going to whine about the smell of the leather glove tomorrow because he didn’t take it off.

“Master Ani, oh my! Did you drop the casting to the crockpot in the sink!? Oh, if you’ve dented Mistress Padmé’s cookware, I shall…well, I’ll do something and you won’t like it!” Threepio says as he comes into the kitchen, drawn by the noise. He shoos Anakin out of the way of the sink and then lets out an offended wail.

“And you were doing the dishes! How do you expect me to earn my keep around here if you insist upon doing my duties, I ask you! Get out of my kitchen, it’s bad enough that you cook for yourself and the Mistress, must you take my duty of cleaning up after you from me too?!” Threepio physically pushes Anakin out of the kitchen, leaving Padmé no choice but to follow after them, and listen as Threepio continues his offended caterwauling about Anakin not thinking he’s a good enough protocol droid and the shame it brings him, down to a software level. Anakin protects even as he lets Threepio push him into the living room proper, reassuring the droid that he doesn’t think that and was just trying to give Threepio more time to talk to Artoo.

 _/Leave me out of this! I don’t have anything to do with that nonsense./_ Artoo says in response and then Threepio totters back into the kitchen as quickly as he can, apparently pleased now that both of the humans were out of his domain.

And then it’s just her and Anakin in the living room, him staring at her like he’s about to burst out of his skin in fright, and her feeling a creeping horror come over her as her brain processes what he just said to her. He took that dinner to mean she was accusing him of _cheating on her with Palpatine?_ He didn’t think anything of the fact that an older man, whom he trusted with his gender identity, (And from what Padmé understood, the first adult other than his mother he had ever came out to.) would be comfortable forcing him into revealing women’s formal wear and touching him inappropriately. On camera, which means that was _normal behavior_ for them! Even when laid out plainly in front of him, he didn’t see anything wrong with that.

What he got out of their concerns was that Padmé was accusing him of cheating on her.

Oh, by the Great Mother and goddesses, she’s going to vomit. And then unload an entire blaster into Sheev Palpatine’s face. She put her hands on her knees and tried to breathe. Anakin put his hand on her upper back and he was babbling, voice frantic and words unintelligible, and she was trying real hard not to throw up the truly lovely dinner he made her.

Oh, by the little gods and goddess’, that was an apology meal wasn’t it? He was trying to apologize to her for thinking that she had accused him of cheating on her, not trying to coax him into admitting that there was something very wrong and predatory about his relationship with Chancellor Palpatine.  She tasted bile in the back of her throat and took a deep breathe through her nose – she was not going to vomit on her carpet and make Anakin feel even worse than he already did.

She needed so much help; she was in so over her head here.

She straightened up and Anakin put his hands under her elbows, as if she needed support. Her eyes were watery and her stomach still wiggled in an uncomfortable way, but she needed to ignore that right now. This wasn’t about her reaction to this, this was about Anakin.

“I’m not angry with you. I wasn’t trying to accuse you of cheating on me, Ani, I was trying to express concern about a situation that I felt was putting you in danger.” She says first, because that is the most important thing here. She’s not blaming him for anything, much less anything that…that… _that monster_ did to him.

“Really?” He asks and he searches her face as if to catch her out in a lie. She forces her fingers to close around his sleeves, licking her lips and trying to get her emotions under control. She knows he can feel what she’s feeling, she knows that much at least, but she’s managed to put together that just because he can feel those things doesn’t mean he understands the context of _why_ she’s feeling any certain way. Having her spouse literally able to feel her emotions didn’t make things easier, if anything it just gives their struggles an extra dimension for misunderstandings to occur.

“Padmé, really, you both misunderstood the situation. I wasn’t in any danger or being hurt.” Anakin says reassuringly and rubs at her arms. “Yeah, I don’t like being put in dresses but you don’t always get to choose what you wear on missions – it’s hardly the first time I’ve been put into something uncomfortable. And it helps for diplomatic missions.”

“Helps? As in, currently helps?” Padmé asks, mind catching on the present tense of his words.

“Yeah, I mean I’ve only had to do some of those a few times and it’s a little uncomfortable, but it’s for the Republic! Like, you remember last year how dairy products were starting to get rationed and then like magic we suddenly had enough for everyone again? Rattail agreed to provide Coruscant with dairy after the Chancellor went out personally to listen to their grievances and make sure their concerns were addressed immediately rather than months later. The embargo we had imposed on them was starving them, so he rewrote the treaty to get rid of it so they could feed their people. And in response, they agreed to make sure that we had dairy.” Anakin explains eagerly and Padmé can feel her stomach drop to her toes.

Rattail was placed under an embargo for _developing hyperspace nuclear weapons_. And they had never once stated, in the decade since it was passed, that their people were starving – their argument was always about Senate Overreach and Planetary Rights, with an emphasis on how the embargo was “stifling” creative ideas and scientific developments. And the Supreme Chancellor rewrote the treaty without any input from the Senate? _HOW?_ Did he write a legal document, get it notarized, and sneak it into the Bills Server somehow? But they were protected against anything like that happening!

He can’t have snuck it into any other bills; she’s gone over the last three hundred and seventeen bills with a fine-tooth comb looking for anything that was snuck in, not just because she didn’t trust Palpatine anymore but because the Traditionalists were notorious for that move! And if he had done it in the last year, it would have come up if he had snuck it in somehow.

 _Unless he didn’t do it through a bill at all_ , she thought with such a striking moment of clarity that she almost smacked herself in the face _._ He’s the leader of the GAR; it would be laughably easy to simply command the embargo to be halted. Just reprogram the hyperspace satellites to think that the treaty is no longer in effect and that would do it. And, since the passing of the Combination of Military Entities was passed, he’d be able to do that as the commander of the GAR – hyperspace satellites were classified as military devices.

She needed to tell Bail and Mon about this. This was such an overstep, it needed to be addressed as soon as possible. This might be enough to get started on the process of taking away his emergency powers, at the very least, if not outright impeachment.

“You – you were there when Palpatine said he’d rewrite the treaty?” Padmé asks, just to make sure. If he was in the room, his testimony would be imperative to any case they’d make against Palpatine. And if there was physical documentation of the rewritten treaty somewhere, Anakin would likely know where it was kept for further proof.

“Yeah, I was there as a witness when it was ratified and signed.” Anakin says and he lets go of her to take a step back, clearly thinking that she’s over whatever moment of panic that had overtaken her. She takes his hands in her own and forces herself to stop thinking of the political ramifications of this, because that can wait until the morning. She needs to get back to the original worry of the evening.

“You said that your being there helped? How did you help, exactly?” Padmé asks and Anakin frowns down at her.

“I know I’m not the best at politics, but I do know a lot about the way things work, you know. Yeah, I talk my way off of diplomatic missions that require talking leaders into staying with the Republic, but that’s because I don’t always think it’s in their best interests to remain in the Republic when there are other legitimate options – like the Neutral Systems. It’s a conflict of interest.” Anakin says and she’s hurt his feelings.

They have differing opinions on that line of thought, not that Padmé would ever think less of him for it. But, at the end of the day, she can’t get behind Satine and her way of doing things – separating the Republic even more is not the way to get democracy to prevail. Staying neutral wasn’t a way to ensure atrocities didn’t happen; it was simply sticking your head in the sand. And Satine would never agree to have a military arm, even if only to enforce their neutrality, the way that Anakin suggests so it’s a bad argument. And, yes, it would help the Neutral Systems to have more self-reliant planets, that way they have capital and resources, but all Satine and her people were doing was prolonging the democratic process. The Republic, full and whole, was the answer not the problem - she fully believed that.  

But this isn’t a time to debate that idea.

 “I meant that you aren’t one of the people who helped create the original treaty or one of the members of central intelligence, so I’m confused as to why you were invited and not someone like Senator Dasken Hobiv.” She explains and hopes that’s enough to show she wasn’t trying to call him ignorant or anything.

 “We couldn’t invite Hobiv for classified reasons. There’s…stuff I can’t talk about, in regards to that senator.” Anakin says and he tugs at his hands to make her let go of him. She follows him as he heads to the couches, trying to think of a way to ask him more about this meeting without insulting him more than she clearly already has.

 “I don’t see why you’re so interested in this meeting.” Anakin says testily. He throws himself down onto the couch and folds his hands together in the sleeves of his robes.

 “You said you were wearing something that you didn’t choose, didn’t you? I’m trying to make you see why that would concern me, as someone who loves you.” Padmé snaps and she’d never be this blunt with anyone else, but this is her _husband_.

 “Oh, for the love of – It was a stupid diplomatic event, Padmé; you wear formal clothes to those! And Rattail has an understandably not friendly view of Jedi, so I couldn’t wear my uniform and if I went in GAR yellows, it would be seen as an aggressive move. He had a dress on hand so I wore it!” Anakin says, frustrated, and she wants to tear her hair out.

 “He just happened to have a dress on hand that fit you?” She retorts and she’s handling this all wrong, she’s absolutely sure.

 “YES!” Anakin shouts back and waves his hands in the air to emphasize the point. “He’s the Supreme Chancellor; he has all sorts of clothes on hand at any moment!”  

 “But why does he had gowns in your size but no suits?! Doesn’t that seem strange to you? He’s known you’re a male since he’s meet you, you came out to him before you came out to anyone else, so why isn’t he respecting that fact?! He knew you were going to be there, so it’s not like he didn’t have the time to get a few suits for you to try and wear!” She yells back at him. She knows Anakin is smarter than this, why can’t he just admit to himself that something is wrong?!

 “He respects me plenty!” Anakin shouts back. “He clearly respects my political ideas more than you do right now! I know, it’s a shock, but I can actually attend diplomatic meetings and not make a fool of myself!” He continues. Padmé makes a frustrated sound and throws her arms up, wanting to pace or perhaps stomp her foot like a child.

 “This isn’t about that! I respect your political ideologies plenty, but this isn’t about that. This is about the fact that Sheev Palpatine is continuously putting you in clothes you’re not comfortable in and parading you around like some kind of brainless trophy!” She shouts at him.

 “I’m not an object!” Anakin screams at her, shooting to his feet, and just as he says the words the glass on the side tables shatters just as something else cracks – she thinks it might be one of the wooden supports for the smaller two-seater to their right, she’s heard it break before when Threepio tripped over Artoo and accidently crushed it.

 “Oh, that was mature!” She snaps at him, fed up. Anakin flinches back from her and then glares at her with such venom that for a moment she wants nothing more than to gather him up in her arms and apologize for making him look so wretched. But then she takes a breath and she clenches her jaw and glares right back, not impressed with his behavior. “You’re cleaning this up.” She says and walks by him towards their bedroom.

 She wishes she could slam the door closed, it would be cathartic at least, but all she can do is push the close button with a little more force than necessary. She reaches up to undo her hair, yanking on the ties to get her hair loose, and when something gets tangled she just rips it out altogether. It stings a little but she’s so angry she can’t bring herself to really care.

 She throws herself into the chair in front of her vanity and yanks up the makeup remover cloth, angrily scrubbing at her face. That was a complete disaster of epic proportions. Maybe she _is_ misunderstanding things and maybe Anakin _likes_ the attention he’s getting from Sheev. What would she know, apparently he much prefers his company over hers.

 Her face is an unhappy pink from the excessive rubbing, but her makeup is off, and now she just has to get changed and she can go to bed and pretend this whole argument never happened. It fills her with a childish glee to kick her skirts off and leave them crumpled on the floor and she crawls into bed still wearing her shirt, not caring one little bit about the wrinkles she’ll have in the morning.

 She bundles herself in the blankets and stares angrily at the wall for a good long while, mind going in several different directions. She’s going to have to contact a lot of people tomorrow about what Anakin told her about the Rattail mess, probably have to hunt down the new treaty and see if she can get visual proof of lack of a blockade, because she sincerely doubts Anakin will cooperate with her about this. It’ll be the hardest political move she’s made yet, going directly against Palpatine, but this cannot be allowed to escalate! He can’t act like a dictator and expect no one to do anything about it!

She turns onto her other side, biting her lip, and thinks (not for the first time) that he might have acted as he did because she was wrong and he _could_ act like a dictator and no one would care. The Senate has been giving him so much more power and he’s already been in his position for four more years than was strictly legal. The Senate extended the number of terms the Chancellor could serve, yes, but they hadn’t ratified the Constitution, just voted to postpone elections until after the war. But they had asked Palpatine to stay on during the separation talks, the Traditionalists ramming the bill through under the cloud of night to make it somewhat legal. She had been more concerned about the Military Creation Bill and its ramifications back then, that it wasn’t until after the bill was passed that she really could think about the fact that the elections had been postponed, seemingly indefinitely.

But if she went after Palpatine and the Traditionalists didn’t back her…they held the majority in the Senate right now, especially with so many of the Unification party having left the Republic, so unless she managed to sway at least five members of the opposition, there might not be anything she could do to stop Palpatine.

 She turned on her back and thought the problem over a little more.

 Surely her fellow Senators would see the dangers of allowing this behavior to continue? Even the Traditionalist Party, while often on the wrong side of history, cared about their constituents and sectors enough to put a stop to this reckless attack on democracy. They may not want to open diplomatic channels with the fractions of the Separatist Collation that legitimately wanted peace, but they were willing to go to war for democracy so surely they’d be able to work with her to support either an impeachment or call for stripping the Supreme Chancellor of some of his more draconian powers. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the entire party would willingly throw away so much power by forfeiting the Chancellorship altogether but surely they’d at least help start the process to make it easier to get him out of office once the war was over…

 She’d have to talk with Bail, Mon, Tundria, and a few others tomorrow. Thinking in circles wouldn’t help anyone right now. She turned onto her side and stared at Anakin’s spot of the bed, reaching a hand out to feel the coolness of the sheets. She –

 She sat up in bed, a thought hitting her so suddenly her breath caught in her chest. Anakin hadn’t let her talk him around to the idea of Palpatine not having his best interests in mind – he’d distracted her with the treaty talk and then twisted her words, deliberately, to misunderstand them to start an argument. She went from worrying about him, about his safety, to yelling at him and he’d played her like a fiddle to get that result.

Why would he do that?

Was he realizing that she might be right? She tried to think of the situation from his perspective – if someone, like her sister perhaps, had come to her and told her that a trusted mentor was behaving inappropriately towards her, what would she do with that information? It was hard to think about, because part of the process for going into politics had been various sexual harassment and consent courses that were mandatory for everyone in the junior legislative programs, but Anakin wasn’t raised like that. He wasn’t raised in a place that had age appropriate discussions about sex education, consent, power imbalances, and how to recognize predatory behavior.

 Did the Jedi teach courses like that? And if they did, were they mandatory? And, would someone who came in late, like Ani, have taken them?

 She had no idea. It wasn’t exactly something that she talked about with Anakin a lot or even Obi-Wan. However, given her suspicions regarding Anakin and Chancellor Palpatine, they must _not_ have courses like that – otherwise, Anakin wouldn’t be in the situation he was in. Not to mention, that if they had courses like that, it would have covered things like gender identity and coming out and all the politics regarding those things across the Republic, so Anakin would have felt more secure in coming out to the Jedi Order as a whole.

Which led her back to the original thought: did the Jedi teach those things at all to their young or did Ani just get left out because he came in late? She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, right between her eyebrows, thinking it over. The Jedi Order had a long history with the Senate, one that stretched hundreds of years; surely they must teach their young some form of stranger danger and how to go to an adult about anything that made them uncomfortable.

In fact, the more she thought it over, the more certain she became – Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had expressed to her, multiple times, that the Order was their family. The Order was their calling, yes, but it was also the closest thing either of them had to family. It was the only family they were allowed to have or want. If either of them had ever had a moment as children when an adult made them uncomfortable, it would have been second-nature for them to tell someone about it. They were raised to believe in the Order as a whole, they would have felt safe enough to tell an adult within it if something untoward was happening to them.

But Anakin wasn’t raised in the Temple like they were. He was the red shaak of the group, coming in from such hardship and much older than any of the adults around him would have been used to. And his background didn’t exactly encourage trust in other beings, especially not adults. Coming from that background, it must have been easy for the Chancellor to slink underneath Anakin’s defenses and start to exploit and victimize him again. As long as he didn’t outright hurt Anakin, there’s all sorts of things he could do to little Anakin, freshly free and ignorant of the way adults were supposed to interact with children.

She kicks her way out of the cocoon of blankets – all that moving around really did tangle them around her more – and gets out of bed. She whips her shirt off and then hunts around in her closet for a nightgown, just to make it look like she hadn’t crawled into bed angry with Anakin. (She had, but he didn’t need to know that.)

Anakin is right where she left him, but he’s taken off his robes finally and is playing with one of his fidget cubes. The glass side tables are fixed and shining and the little side couch doesn’t look lopsided, so he must have fixed that as well.

Padmé sits down on the couch quietly, next to her husband, and Anakin hunches into himself more, aggressively twisting the cube in his hands more. Something is _click clacking_ inside of it, not like gears but almost like the sound a button makes when it’s snapped together and she wonders if it’s supposed to make that sound or if he’s moving it too fast. It has odd numbers on its face and is strangely plain looking with a dull white paint. She doesn’t think she bought him this one, doesn’t recognize it at least, and wonders for a moment if he made it or bought it someplace else.  

(The first day they were on Naboo, back when they were reunited and he was protecting her, he’d picked up one of her childhood spinners and played with it for hours. He patrolled the house with it spinning in his hand, went over the details of her public speeches for that upcoming week while flicking his hand just enough to start it again when it started to lag, and every hour it lit up with different colors. She remembered his expression the first time it did that, the startled-pleased look crossing his boyish face, and she remembered thinking that he hadn’t changed all that much after all.)

(Sheev had been the one to give her the fidget toy, on the night she was sworn in as Queen. He had joked that maybe if she had a spinner she wouldn’t drum her fingers against tables anymore during boring meetings and she had laughed and been thankful for the thoughtful gift.

She hates him so much she could power an entire star with it.)

“It was red.” Anakin mutters, looking at the cube and not her. She furrows her brows in confusion for a moment, before it hits her that he must be talking about the dress he was forced into on Rattail. She reaches out to touch his hair, which he tolerates for a few pets, before he moves his head and she obediently lowers her hand. She doesn’t think she’s going to get more out of him tonight.

She folds her hands in her lap and wonders about what she was doing out here. She wanted to go back to their conversation, wanted to demand he tell her more about the dress, about how the Chancellor has acted around him or touched him, wanted to press and press until Anakin broke open and told her the truth. She wanted to scream some more, not at him necessarily but she’d take it if she were honest, but she knew that wouldn’t be helpful. If she pushed this, she’d stress him out beyond what was good for him and that never ended well. If she didn’t force him into a seizure, she’d force him into a panic attack.

She put her head in her hands and forced herself not to think about such awful things. Was she making a big deal out of nothing? What if she had this wrong and –

_Sheev Palpatine’s hand is low on Anakin’s hip, Anakin’s body curved into his side, face painted in a mockery of good taste. The hint of skin showing high on his leg makes her head spin because he can’t be more than sixteen years old and someone as old as Sheev has no business touching someone that young like that. She knows Anakin, knows him down to her bones, and knows how uncomfortable his body makes him – he’d never be okay with so much of it being shown off like that._

Obi-Wan had been concerned too. She wasn’t making mountains out of molehills, there was something not right about the relationship between them and Anakin hadn’t been old enough to know the danger when he was younger. He had grown up in the danger, desensitized to it.

 _/C-3PO says there is a treat in the kitchen. You need a treat./_ Artoo beeps at her and when she doesn’t move, he makes a threatening beep and rolls forward enough to pinch her with one of his extenders. She hisses at him to stop, not in the mood, and Artoo bleats at her rudely.

He rolls into the kitchen and she leaps to her feet to follow after him, unamused with his rude behavior. She has every intention of giving him a piece of his mind when the door slides closed behind her and the kitchen is spotless, no food or drink anywhere in sight. She gives the droid an inquisitive look, crossing her arms.

_/You were talking about the plating Anakin was wearing for the Rattail mission, earlier, weren’t you?/_

“R2, do you have a recording of Anakin from that mess?” She breathes, hardly willing to believe it. But, if anyone would have gotten a clear image of Anakin in whatever monstrosity the Chancellor shoved him into, it would have been Artoo.

 _/I can send it to your comm inbox./_ Artoo beeps and the fact that he wants to send it to her, wants to give her a copy of it, makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Does he just want her to be able to see the whole thing in color, since Anakin already specified that the actual dress was red, or was he giving her a copy for legal purposes? As a droid that had a higher security clearance than she had, was he giving her a workaround to ask him if he _did_ have a recording of the actual discussion for the end of the Rattail Blockade?

She’s jumping ahead of herself again. Anakin first, the political mess next.

“I’d appreciate that.” She says and leaves the kitchen to grab her datapad. She hovers in the entryway, unsure if she wants to try to go back out into the living room while she opens this or wait here. If she goes back out there, she can sit with Anakin and remind herself that he’s safe, at home with her, but it might upset him if he saw what she was looking at. And what if she reacted badly to seeing him in whatever it was that he was wearing that day?

She didn’t want to make things worse.

She leans against the table that holds her charging port and the briefcase she uses for work and clicks the pad on. She might as well stay out here, no use upsetting Anakin any more than she already has. Artoo’s message is just a short video file with the standard seventeen encryption protection that all video files from him came with ever since his latest software upgrade gave him Alpha Level security clearance. Sometimes it still made her giggle on the inside that one of her old droids had a higher security level than she did. She checks that her volume is low enough that it won’t be heard in the living room and hits play:

 

 

 

> _“Are you sure I can’t just wear my GAR yellows? This doesn’t seem like it would be appropriate for a diplomatic meeting.” Anakin says, clearly uncomfortable. He’s holding his Jedi robes closed at the base of his neck, the fabric bunched in odd places, while the Chancellor looks at him disapprovingly._
> 
> _“You let me be the judge of that, my dear, I’m sure it’s fine.” The Chancellor says and Anakin shrugs out of the robe, throwing it away while he stares down at the floor. He looks pale._
> 
> _The dress is indeed red – a deep, blood red thing[with a plunging neckline that stops maybe mid-stomach](https://img.promgirl.com/_img/PGPRODUCTS/1572271/1000/red-dress-SH-50642-a.jpg). It’s not a dress that would be out of place at a fundraiser or a movie debut, but she wants to reach into the past and throw a comforter over her husband and hide him away somewhere. She wants to reach through the screen and beat the ever-loving shit out of Sheev Palpatine for forcing Anakin into the thing because it uses Anakin’s breasts as a fucking centerpiece. There’s a slit up the front too, showing off Anakin’s long legs, and she hates that she wants to wear the thing herself. _
> 
> _“You look passable, dear, how are the shoes? I’m afraid I only had size nines on hand, but they’re flats at least so hopefully you won’t be too uncomfortable.” The Chancellor says as he circles around Anakin, like he’s assessing a piece of artwork._
> 
> _“They’re a little uncomfortable, but its fine, I guess. Are you sure I can’t wear something else?” Anakin asks again and he reaches up to pull the sides of the neckline closer together, as if that would help hide his breasts._
> 
> _“We’ve been over this.” The Chancellor says, clearly annoyed, and then he reaches out and pulls the neckline open again, right over where Anakin’s fingers had been, and she’s sure his fingers touched skin._
> 
>  

Padmé screeches and hurls the datapad into the wall in front of her. How dare – He touched – _How dare_ – She’ll fucking kill him herself, how fucking dare he think he can put his hands on Anakin like that? _She’ll fucking kill him._ She’ll rip off his cock and nail it to his office door; she’ll crack open his ribcage and make him swallow his black heart; she’ll break every bone in his hands and peel back the flesh on his fingers; she’ll make him scream for every disgusting thought he’s ever had about her Anakin, she’ll beat his face in until even the gods won’t be able to tell who he is.

“Padmé?” Anakin calls tentatively from somewhere behind her. She unclenches her hands from where they’re wrapped around the edges of the table, the edges biting into her flesh angrily, and takes a deep breath. Her feet hurt from where she’s been kicking the table and she was mildly shocked that she had managed to break at least one of the table legs. The datapad’s screen is cracked from when she threw it and she’ll have to use her old one until she buys a new one or gets that one fixed, whichever is cheaper. She turns around to answer her husband, smiling in a way she hopes is reassuring.

“What is it, sweetling?” She asks and when she takes a step towards him, he retreats from her, eyes wary and bottom lip caught under his teeth.

“Are you…You don’t feel - I mean, are you alright?” Anakin says, stumbling over his words and he’s fiddling with his fingers.

She stoops to pick up the datapad and walks back over to Anakin, who skitters back when she gets close.

“I just saw something that upset me, that’s all, Sweetling.” She explains and holds the datapad out as a kind of olive branch. Anakin blinks at her, long and slow, before he takes the pad from her and he seems so tense. Has she frightened him? She doesn’t think she’s ever lost her temper this badly around him, which is pretty funny because she’s seen him lose his shit on more than one occasion. It’s just…she usually has better control over herself, these days.

Then again, it’s not every day she finds out that the love of her life was being abused by a trusted mentor and probably had been since childhood.

“Do you want me to fix this?’ Anakin asks her, holding up the datapad.

“Not tonight, I just…can we just go to bed?” She asks and she wants to curl around him and pretend she can protect him from everything for a few hours. She wants this horrible night to end so she can try and figure out what the next move here is.

“Oh, yeah, I can…I can sleep out here, I guess.” Anakin says awkwardly and starts to shuffle back towards the living room.

_“Are you sure I can’t wear something else?” He sounded so uncomfortable and was trying to hide in his clothes. The clothes he hadn’t picked and didn’t want to be wearing and she’s burning with rage at just watching this, helpless to go back in time and fix it._

“No.” She says and reaches out to snag his wrist. “I’m not upset with you and even if I was, our bed is always _ours_. If you’re home, I want you in it with me.” She continues and she feels so tired all the sudden. She has no idea what to do and she just wants to crawl into bed and let time pass by without her say-so for a while.

He lets her tug him into their bedroom and she crawls into their bed in a kind of fog, feeling like she’s stayed up too late looking over treaties or border disputes. She misses him changing, but when she wraps her arms around him, he’s discarded his clothes and his body is warm against her front. She buries her face into his curls and feels a strange kind of glee – darker than she’s used to – when he snuggles back against her, pulling her arm more securely around him. In between one moment and then next, she drifts into sleep, her dreams empty and silent.


	7. Metal In Our Tongues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin Skywalker gets GREAT news, it blows his mind a little, Obi-Wan Kenobi gets AWFUL news and proceeds to put his entire leg into his mouth. Padmé is Not Amused and there’s so much set up. But set up for what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than the last chapter and I'm sorry it took me awhile to get it out, between the holiday season and my job hunt it was just A LOT. And guess what, peeps? I'm still unemployed. T.T

“Well, with your latest results and body weight, we can go ahead with the double incision mastectomy whenever you’re ready.” Dr. Ameerya says and Anakin’s brain hiccups for a moment in shock.

“I – Wait, are you sure?” He says because surely he misheard? Dr. Ammerya reaches out with their primary arm and settles their three fingered hand on his shoulder, their fur warm.

“Yes, your test results indicate that your hormone levels have finally leveled, which means the amount of testosterone we have you on is being accepted by your body and it’s starting to produce it’s own. And your body weight is at an acceptable BMI for a surgery of this level. Now, I understand that you’re on the front lines and need to get back to the war effort, which is why I’m fully prepared to have you in sometime this week. The actual procedure doesn’t take that long and your post-op recovery should be fairly quick given your species and your use of the Force. I’ve pulled some studies and documents and it looks like you’ll be ready for re-deployment by the beginning of next month, which is a significantly shorter recovery than a human without Force abilities. One of my surgical doctors is from your branch of the Medical Corps, thankfully, so I’m fairly confident in their assessment of your recovery time. I fully understand that you’ll need to talk to your commanding officers about getting the time off, so as long as you call us back as soon as possible we can get you back on the front before the first.” Dr. Ammerya explains and Anakin – he –

He has no idea what he’s feeling right now.

“Oh, yes, I’ll need to talk to the council.” His mouth says while his brain is still spinning like he’s in a firefight and can’t get the enemy off his tail. “I should go do that. I’ll comm, probably tomorrow morning, if that’s okay?” His mouth continues and surely the Force is speaking through him without his input? He has no idea how his mouth is able to say complete sentences and sound so put together.

Dr. Ammerya says more words, but Anakin can’t really understand them right now, and somehow his body goes through the correct motions through the rest of the appointment, through the lobby where he stops to tell the receptionist droid that he’ll schedule his next appointment in the morning, and then he’s outside the office feeling like he’s forgotten to turn on the gravity dampers in the _Twilight_.

He wanders around the middle levels of Coruscant, not sure what to do with himself. He passes by shops and people and restaurants, trying to make sense of what he was just told. He can have top surgery, that’s what he was just told. He can have it within a few days, if he’s given the go ahead, and there wasn’t any mention of him having to do the full procedure all at once. That means he can wait for the bottom stuff until later – in fact, he can probably put it off until after the war since it’s really not that big of a deal. He won’t have to ask for permission then, either, since he fully intends to not be a Jedi at that point in his life.

He has a moment of blind panic at that thought – without the Jedi, he doesn’t have income or shelter; he won’t have any clear purpose or direction; won’t be allowed to see Obi-Wan whenever he wants ( _at all, they won’t let you see him **at all**_ ); what if they only _say_ they’ll respect anyone’s wishes in them wanting to leave and then pull the rug out from under him at the last minute? What if it’s like the lie the owners tell, _save enough wupiupi and you can buy your contract out_ , but the price always goes up and the bills pile up and you never have enough, not ever??

No, no, he’s being ridiculous. Plenty of Jedi have left – by the Great Mother, Dooku was allowed to go and they only started hunting him once he started a civil war – or been outright discarded once they reached a too old age, they’ll let him go. They don’t own him; he doesn’t have a contract anymore. If he’s being really honest with himself, they’ll probably be relieved to see the back of him. And, yeah, maybe Obi-Wan won’t want to see him after that decision, but that will be his choice not something the Order would make him do – he’s a council member, they can’t order him to do anything he doesn’t want to do, not really.

He’s free, he’s not a slave.

 _~~He’s on overseer though, those are always slaves.~~ _

And it’s not like he won’t have shelter, he’s _married_. What is his is Padmé’s and what is Padmé’s is his – they’d talked about this, it’s not like it’s a new concept to him. And he’s an adult with marketable skills; he can find a job really easily and not have to rely on his wife’s income if he doesn’t want to.

“Honey, are you going to order anything or just sit there?” A voice breaks into his thoughts and when he jerks his head to look at the source, he finds a droid standing in front of him with a stylized datapad and flimsi held at the ready. He’s sitting in an outdoor section of what looks like a café, when did that happen?

“Sorry, could I have some water, please?” He answers and the droid opens their chest cavity to pull out a cup, pitcher, and a little straw. The water has a slight blue tint to it, indicating that it must be coming from the lower levels, and the ice cubes are shaped as crescents, which is cute.

Why is he thinking about ice cubes and where the water is coming from, he was just told life changing news here!

“When you’re ready to pay, your payment processing scanner is to your left. Please be aware that we have cameras in our outdoor dining arena and we will forward any necessary images to the judicial branch of this sector in the event of any non-payment, which includes bounced credit chip funds. If you need anything else, please hit the reorder button in the center of your table. Have a good day, honey.” The droid says once the water was poured and it has been some time since he’s been in a place that still had their droids say the standard disclaimer instead of trying to make it sound more personable.

He’s stalling thinking through the implications of what he was just told by concentrating on nonsense. It’s a problem he’s had for years; many instructors have told him so throughout his education in the temple.

He was told that he had to do all of his transition at once; the Chancellor said so, multiple times throughout the years. And yet, his doctor just told him that he could do the top and bottom surgeries apart from each other. And they spoke of it in such a matter of fact way that it was clear that wasn’t a new way of doing things – that was the norm.

So, why did the Sheev tell him differently?

The water has a slight mercury tang to it, confirming his earlier suspicion of it being from the lower level water treatment facilities. The surface level didn’t use mercury to clean its water, they used a biodegradable chemical that was tested as safe across seven hundred thirty-nine species and had a much sharper, clean taste. It also had a clear color, as opposed to the blue tint that the mercury gave the water after treatment. All water cleaned and sterilized for consumption in Coruscant was within drinkable levels, he’s read the truly impressive legislation around such things for classes at least three times. So, even though the water in the lower and bottom levels has more mercury, it wasn’t in any dangerous levels.

Unless, of course, it was all you drank your entire life. Then you’d have a sizable amount of it in your bloodstream and it would pass onto your kids, causing various health disorders and such. It was marked that the higher levels of mercury in the beings living in the second and third levels of the planet had their lifespans shortened by an average of five years each level, so it wasn’t a truly _horrible_ number, but still…it was just another level separating the fortunate from the less-so.

He remembered when he, Padmé, Bail, Lei Lena, and some others were working on new legislation to lower the inner-gate fines on Coruscant to help the middle and lower levels in their quality of life and they had a hard time convincing people of the facts, even the most basic of documented realities. The middle and lower levels were heavily taxed and didn’t have a lot of representation to make up for it and getting things to go up the levels was easier, financially, than getting them to go down – water was a perfect example of that. Getting water from the lower levels to the middle levels was only about 250 credits per 33 gallons at the gates, but getting water from the upper level down to the middle level was 690 credits per 25 gallons at the gates. It was a system designed to keep the poor, poor and the rich, rich. It had been written into their laws, their cultural dealings, and their social mores.

Getting people to believe the direness of the situation was hard and in the end, it hadn’t worked. Padmé had been disappointed and a little heartsick with it when her colleagues didn’t seem to care about the people the same way she did, but Anakin hadn’t expected anything to change. It’s why he at made sure to get a few other senators to tac-on other things that would help make things more equal – like a lessening of the punishments for smuggling goods through the levels; like making the new security to surround the known smuggling spots on Coruscant ridiculously expensive; like the small sentence in HR-VL that made the patent for the biodegradable chemical the surface uses public domain so someone can synthesize it elsewhere in the galaxy or even just the planet without being sued into extinction.

This is how he did politics – in the dark, in a pushed away corner, and if he couldn’t do something _legally_ he’d just made sure he could do it in a way that wasn’t strictly _illegal_. He operated in the grey between those two words. It came from being born in the Territories, came from having to bend rules and be told it was alright because someone at the top said so.

( _It came from early lessons where you **had**_ _to verbally obey, but your actions didn’t have to be the spirt of the order. Came from old lessons about doing only what you were told, none of the implications behind it, of bending orders to hide small rebellions._

_‘It’s the little things that keep us going’ His mother would say, her fingers gentle in his hair.)_

It wasn’t how Padmé played the game, but he wouldn’t apologize for it.

The Supreme Chancellor and Padmé were alike in that way – they took things at face value and believed in the best of people, tried to play the game as if everyone were on a level playing field and wanted to play by the same rules. It’s what he loved about both of them, really, the fact that they could go out into the galaxy and see so much hate, so much pain, so much depravity, and it made them even more determined to be kind and just. They loved him, didn’t they? Even after everything he’s failed at, everything he’d done that wasn’t morally right even if various commanders have told him it was allowed – they both still loved him.

If someone had given Sheev Palpatine the information that Anakin had to transition all at once, he would have taken that at face value. He was a very busy man and it wasn’t fair to assume that he’d put his actual life and career on hold to look up information on Anakin’s behalf. Anakin could have, and indeed _should have_ , double checked the information himself instead of taking it as fact. He knew better, really, than to just assume something told to him was fact.

He had no right feeling betrayed, no right at all. 

He drank more of the water, crunching on the ice cubes.

He had been quoted for all the expenses for a full transition and the number that he’d have to pay, after insurance paid a little over half of it, was ridiculously high. With the stipend he got, even if he added in the funds from his racing days before the war started and the small funds he got when he sold off his blueprints for an advanced protocol droid brain, it wouldn’t be enough to pay for it all – the actual surgery itself, sure, but the outpatient procedures and additional hormones to settle things? No way, he’d run out so quickly – especially if something went wrong or he had to switch medications during the pre or post op – that happened, sometimes, with the various drugs he was on. The Chancellor had been willing to pay for a portion of it, but Anakin hadn’t wanted that.

He didn’t want Sheev paying his bills for the same reason he didn’t want his wife paying for them – that much money would be noticeable and people would talk. Bad enough that Obi-Wan and Padmé had misinterpreted a single moment between them and blown it out of proportion, if suddenly it looked like Sheev had given him a huge sum of money? Oh, yeah, that wouldn’t cause Obi-Wan’s mind to go right to the worst case scenario at all. Not to mention, he’s pretty sure the various news outlets would be _very interested_ in where that money went to – Sheev can’t even go to a musical without four reporters talking about it for days, if they found out he was funding someone’s transition? Anakin would be found out within three hours, tops, and while he wasn’t in active hiding about his body from the Order anymore he doubted they’d appreciate the sudden attention such a revelation would grant them.

And if he got that money from Padmé, he might as well just publish their marriage license while he was authorizing the transfer of credits. It wouldn’t take long until someone found out that Padmé Amidala had funneled her own private money to Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker and then find out what that money went towards. He’d lose everything – the Order would expel him so fast, he’s sure Ahsoka would get dizzy from it.

Oh, by the Great Mother, _Ahsoka._ What would happen to her once he was gone? Obi-Wan wouldn’t be allowed to take her, not after so publically failing at training him, would she just be reassigned? Would she be sent away to the Corps? If she was reassigned to someone else, would they treat her well? Would they know to keep her fizzy soda at their place because it’s her favorite? Would they know she had nightmares and the only thing that made her feel better was being wrapped in a blanket and not forcing her to talk about it? Would they care at all? What would they teach her, how to be an unfeeling AI that only feels the Force one way and that thinking in the box was good for her? Would they praise her when she succeeds or only criticize her when she failed?

And what about the 501st? Who would they be reassigned to, some asshole who saw them as cannon fodder and numbers, not individuals with emotions and souls? And if he wasn’t a part of the Jedi Order, wasn’t a part of the GAR, he’d loose a great deal of his clout for the Clone Rights Bill, putting not just his men but all of their brothers at risk too.

No, it was much too risky to let anyone but him pay for his own medical expenses. Besides, all of his numbers were wrong now. He could do it in stages, which would make things much easier to pay for all things considered.

He’d have to see how much his insurance would cover for just his top surgery, if he’s lucky it might cover all of it or at least a sizable amount of it. Then, he’d have to submit a medical extension request of the council and go before at least one member of the body to get it approved. And then he could schedule the actual surgery and get it done.

He breathed deep and let himself feel the elation that was creeping up on him, now that it was sinking in properly. He could get rid of the cursed things on his chest, finally.

He can’t wait to tell Padmé.

* * *

 

Obi-Wan is going to vomit all over Padmé’s carpet and then he’s going to find the disgusting thing that calls itself the Supreme Chancellor and rip his filthy hands off. His stomach rolls and he closes his eyes, reaching for the calm of the Force. Anger would get him nowhere and murder, while doing a lot to soothe his stomach, would lead him down a path he couldn’t come back from.

The anger he was feeling was a trap and a failing he needed to control, quickly, before it consumed him. He gathered his thoughts of bodily violence against Sheev Palpatine, his attachment-driven rage, and released it to the Force. Those things didn’t belong inside of him and wouldn’t help anything.

“Have you shown that to anyone else?” He asks once he’s managed to get control of himself.

“No, I have to admit, I’m a little out of my depth here. If this was one of the members of my staff, I could just take it to the Ethics Committee and forward a copy to Judicial and let them deal with it – I’m their boss, so I can speak for them in regards to legal matters, but Ani isn’t a member of my staff.” Padmé explains and he nods, understanding the dilemma.

“Anakin is a Knight of the Republic and no one can speak for him in legal matters, not even a member of the High Council, unless he is physically unable to speak for himself or declared unable to by the Senate. If either of us tried to submit this on his behalf, it wouldn’t be admissible as anything other than, perhaps, illegal taping of two government officials.” Obi-Wan explains and doesn’t take any joy in the way Padmé sags in understanding. The one time he knows something about the laws of the Republic that she doesn’t and it’s about something this vile? Truly, the Force has a sick sense of humor sometimes.

“There has to be something we can do, Obi-Wan! Did you see it?! Anakin had no idea what was being done to him was wrong, he treated that whole, disgusting affair as if it was completely normal! That monster touched his chest, Obi-Wan, he just – nonchalantly reached out and opened Anakin’s neckline like it was no big deal!” Padmé says frantically and Obi-Wan’s skin crawls just remembering it.

He had thought that – _person_ – was going to just rip open Anakin’s dress entirely and turn that awful recording into something much, much worse. In some way, though, the fact that he didn’t – that he just opened it enough to stare at Anakin’s chest and show it off more was worse. The fact that it was clear his fingers had touched skin and Anakin didn’t react, didn’t as much as flinch, was enough to make Obi-Wan’s hair stand on end and just remembering it makes bile creep up his throat.

He breathes in the Force and lets it wash down his throat like water, clearing away the bad taste. Serenity, calm, order, logic – _think, Obi-Wan, use your fool head_ Qui-Gon’s voice whispered across his memories – and he held onto the Force with both hands, needing it with him to keep his head.

“There isn’t anything we can do unless Anakin realizes what is happening to him and decides to press charges. We can’t do it ourselves.” Obi-Wan says in response.

“The least we can do is get them to not be alone anymore, we can do that much, surely?” Padmé asks and Obi-Wan would love it if it were that simple.

“You know as well as I do that if we try to forbid Anakin from doing anything, he’ll just do it more and be difficult about it. Not to mention the fact that we can’t actually forbid them from having meetings at all – the Supreme Chancellor is, technically, our boss. We couldn’t even get him to leave Anakin alone when he was a young child; I doubt he’d allow anyone to forbid their interactions now. Especially now.” Obi-Wan says. It makes his skin crawl to think about how long this has been going on for – he’s always thought that Palpatine’s interest in Anakin was from a want to use him _politically_ in some way, not from some depraved sexual interest.

“We can load Anakin’s schedule up with things so he can’t possibly have enough time to see the Chancellor. Give him more teaching opportunities, more creche duties, more one on one training and teaching of Ahsoka now that they’re off the front lines – there must be _something_ we can do to limit their time alone while we work on getting Anakin around to realizing that something is wrong! We just have to try again to show him that their interactions are wrong; it shouldn’t be that hard, he’s just in denial right now! This is the time when we should be working on helping him, while he’s home and not on the front lines, lightyears away from anyone on his side!” Padmé says hotly and it’s not a bad idea, really.

Except for the fact that it would never work.

“Anakin is almost maxed out on his hours for the crèche as it is – as a Knight that doesn’t have responsibilities as a crèche master he only has a limited number of hours he’s allowed to spend there. And then we have the fact that he has a wide array of noted attachment censors attached to his file, which means those hours are even less than another Knight from his age group. And since he’s not an instructor, his classes are usually very specific and as of right now there isn’t anything on schedule – it would be beyond my abilities to change that, even as a member of the council.” Obi-Wan explains and he reaches up to stroke his beard. There’s also something about the idea of making Anakin and Ahsoka spend more time together that isn’t sitting well with him.

“You have got to be kidding me. He’s only been home for a little under two weeks and he’s already almost maxed out? How does that work, exactly? Routines are important for childhood development; do they even get a standard rotation of adults in their lives? Or is that too much attachment for them?” Padmé asks accusingly and Obi-Wan gives her a dry look.

“We have crèche masters and routine caretakers, Senator; we have been raising children for thousands of years. We understand the development of over a thousand species and cater to all of them, as we take in quite a lot of them. I’m simplifying a great deal in my explanations here, as we aren’t discussing the way the Order raises our young, but _Anakin_.” Obi-Wan snaps and he really should do more to keep a level head about this, but he’s never been very accommodating of people who insult the Jedi Order.  He thought Padmé knew better than to listen to the few who tend to accuse the Order of kidnapping and brainwashing, but she had come pretty close to one of their talking points just there.

“Okay, so the crèche and teaching are out, but surely we can arrange for more one on one training and teaching for Ahsoka to keep them separate? I’m sure it would also help Snips, Anakin was telling me that she’s been having some trouble in her government modules and he could also go over some of her double handed fighting – I’ve seen some of the recordings of her fighting against armored droids and Anakin is forever going on about how she’s going to chop off her own elbow with some of her backhand holds.” Padmé says and she’s clearly banking on this idea being the thing that they’ll agree on.

But he thinks of Anakin trying to close the neckline of the dress, of him letting Palpatine touch him as he let the older man pull that neckline open. He thinks of the way that Anakin didn’t flinch, never said anything to him or anyone else, of him not seeing the wrongness of Palpatine parading him around like some painted doll on his arm. He thinks about all the awful, horrible things that could be happening behind closed doors and even as his stomach flips and his lungs shrivel with the idea of anyone harming Anakin, he can’t shake the idea that it isn’t a good idea to leave Anakin and Ahsoka alone anymore.

If he doesn’t know any better, if he doesn’t see the problems…he might do the same thing to her. He doesn’t want to think of it, doesn’t want to imagine a version of Anakin Skywalker that would _ever_ hurt Ahsoka, but if he _doesn’t know_ then he might do her a great deal of harm. It’s one of the ways the cycle of abuse starts; he’s seen enough criminal cases just like it. By everything holy in the universe, that is the argument that he and Quinlan use for why the Order should be trying to capture Asajj Ventress alive after all – she was raised around evil and murder, given no other training, is it any wonder she Fell and does the things she does? But she’s a fountain of information that could be vital to the war and her feelings for Quinlan, even if they are just a passing fancy as she says they are, could be used to temporarily cage her for interrogation and containment.

And the fact that he’s comparing Anakin and Ventress in this manner makes his skin crawl, but it might be warranted.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to let Anakin and Ahsoka have so much time together, alone, not now. I’m not sure I would be comfortable with leaving him with any of the children, really.” Obi-Wan admits quietly and it’s a sick sort of caution they have to take.

“Excuse me?” Padmé asks, so clearly taken aback that Obi-Wan is momentarily taken off guard. He would have thought she’d understand, but perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part. He sighs and prepares himself for having to spell out an ugly possibility.

“We’ve established that Anakin doesn’t realize his interactions with the Supreme Chancellor are wrong, on both a criminal and moral level – he’s proven as much with his reluctance to confide in us or let us help him. Therefore, it’s not a stretch to think that he might treat young people in his care the same way – after all, he doesn’t know any better.” Obi-Wan says slowly, making sure to keep things simple so Padmé really understands the danger.

“Anakin would _never_ hurt Ahsoka!” Padmé protests immediately, looking at him as if he had just said that mercury was raining down on Coruscant.

“He wouldn’t know if he _was_ hurting her – that’s where the danger comes from, Padmé. He doesn’t know any of this is wrong, so why _wouldn’t_ he assume that’s the right way to behave and treat her or anyone else accordingly?” Obi-Wan says and he really wants to find a bar and just sit quietly for a moment with some vodka and juice until he can think of something to do with Anakin. Maybe if he talks to Mace or Plo they can figure something out…

“You really believe that.” Padmé says and Obi-Wan gives her a helpless look. She’s clearly coming around, the panicked air around her calming into something more calm and cold.

“I can’t ignore the possibility, as much as I hope I’m wrong.” Obi-Wan says.

“Get out.” Padmé says firmly. Obi-Wan blinks at her in shock.

“Padmé, really, we do have to – ”Obi-Wan starts to protest, sure that she’s just a little upset but she’ll get over it, she’s sensible that way.

“Get out of my office, Master Jedi, before I call Representative Binks to bodily toss you out.” Padmé cuts him out, voice icy and steadily furious. The use of his title in the place of his name – even his last name would have been friendlier – doesn’t alarm him as much as it just makes him profoundly sad. And he knows she would call upon the gungan to physically remove him from her office – he’s seen him do it on occasion, most notably when a low level lobbyist had though it would be a good idea to try to physically hit the gungan during an argument. Ze learned pretty quickly that Jar Jar was stronger than he looked.

Obi-Wan takes his leave and doesn’t get in a last word, not wanting to win this particular argument.

He needs a drink.

* * *

 

_Request for medical leave extension approved. Please report to Healer Kre'fey for details._

Anakin stared down at his pad in something like shock. He wasn’t sure why he was shocked - medical extensions were almost always approved by the Council and he had been issued a few before - one to get his mechanical hand, another to get over a very nasty illness he’d caught on a war-torn planet, and then another after he was used as a crude battery for some scheme of Count Dooku’s. It shouldn’t come as any shock to him that his request was granted and yet…

It was really happening. He was starting the process to get his body the way he wanted it to be. It wasn’t a dream and his biggest obstacle was officially behind him. He had already made his appointment, his leave was granted, and all he had to do was show up to get his breasts removed.

He put the pad down and leaned back in his chair, staring up at his ceiling. He thought he’d have to wait till after the war, after he wasn’t a Jedi anymore, to get to this point.

 _/I’ve rearranged your eating schedule for the next two ten-day cycles. After you eat today’s midday meal, I’ll switch you to liquids until your surgery. After that, you’ll be on mild foods only, in accordance with the medications you’ll be on for pain management, and by the time we’re back to the fighting you’ll be back to normal food. Any objections that aren’t stupid?/_ Artoo whirled.

Anakin laughed at his qualifier.

“No, I trust you to have it handled.” He said and reached out to pat the top of Artoo’s dome.

 _/I’ve been talking to MED-SK1 and there’s a chance that you’ll have a seizure in either the immediate before or aftermath of the surgery, but leave that to us. It’s expected and going to be unavoidable. You won’t be able to be put back onto the Debriviact until we leave, so we’re going to have to be really careful about any of your visual triggers during your recovery./_ Artoo explained and Anakin nodded, understanding the realities of his situation as much as he could. He didn’t like it, but such was the nature of things.

“Yeah, okay.” Anakin said quietly and got up to grab something to drink. His door chimed with an entry request halfway to his little kitchenette so he detoured to go see who wanted to see him.

“Knight Skywalker.” Master Mundi greeted and Anakin blinked at him.

“Hello, Master Mundi. Is there…something I can help you with?” Anakin asked, racking his brain and trying to think of a reason for the Master to be here.

“You requested an extended medical leave for surgery recently.” Master Mundi said and Anakin nodded, his words drying up in his throat. If he was here to tell Anakin that the council was revoking their permission, he was going to scream. And probably punch him. “I’m the one that signed off on it and sent it up to the Chancellor.” Master Mundi continued.

“Thank you?” Anakin questioned, not sure what was happening in this conversation. Master Mundi reached out and put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder, smiling at him gently.

“You don’t need to thank me, Knight Skywalker; your request had merit and it would have been cruel to deny it.” Master Mundi said and his voice was just as gentle as his eyes and smile, which was making Anakin vaguely uncomfortable. It was too close to pity for his tastes.

Master Mundi must have picked up on his thoughts, for he removed his hand and smoothed his expression over.

“The Chancellor sent a request for your presence, to better get a handle on what mission would be best for you to be placed on once you’re back on the roster. It would be much appreciated if, while you are there, you remind the Supreme Chancellor that we’re still waiting for a response from him regarding the latest intel from Covert Intelligence. He’ll know what you mean, I’m afraid I can’t tell you more as it’s above your security clearance, but it is very important that we get a response from him sooner rather than later.” Master Mundi said and Anakin felt his shoulders settle as it made sense why the other man was there suddenly. Of course the council wanted him to talk to Sheev on their behalf; it made things much easier and quicker after all.

“Yes of course, I can do that.” Anakin said immediately. Master Mundi smiled at him, thankful on the surface, but Anakin could feel something like caution and suspicion underneath it. He supposed that wasn’t anything unusual, none of the council members trusted him – even the news ones who hadn’t been there when he was first brought to the Order. And even if they asked him to do their favors – to ask the Chancellor this, to bring him that, to ferry information back and forth, to answer questions about the Chancellor’s schedule – and he did them perfectly, they were suspicious of him all the same. They hid it well enough for others, but Anakin had always been able to tell – it was necessary, after all, to knowing when he was doing something correct or incorrect.

“Well then, I won’t keep you. The Supreme Chancellor said he would like to have midday meal with you, so it’s best if you go now.” Master Mundi dismissed him, even though they were at Anakin’s front door, and turned away with a cursory bow.

 _/Are we going, then?/_ Artoo asked and Anakin hummed, closing his door to grab a few things before he left with Artoo.

It didn’t take long to get to the senate dome and get let into the chancellor’s office. Artoo was, as always, sent to wait with the other droids and Anakin took a seat across from the chancellor as the food was brought out. It was pretty bland, but it was food so Anakin didn’t complain.

“I have to say, I was surprised to get the memo that you were requesting more leave time.” Sheev said as he cut his food into little bites to spear and dip into the sauces around him.

“My doctor said I could start my first surgery.” Anakin said, feeling his fingers twitch with excited energy.

“Oh! Why, I’m happy for you, Anakin.” Sheev said and dipped one of his little bites into the thick blue sauce at his left. Anakin liked that one, it was overwhelmingly sweet, but he couldn’t imagine dipping pig into it like that. It went well with fish, especially the bitter eel from Naboo, but pig? He wondered at Sheev’s taste buds sometimes.    

“We could certainly use you on the front, but I guess we can wait for you to get some things in order. The 345th diversion was just confirmed as wiped out earlier today – even their commander was lost in the battle it looks like. And that’s to say nothing of the planet itself – we lost it to the Separatists and the last reports from it before we were cut out said the death toll was in the hundreds.” Sheev said sadly, moving his utensil through the mashed up tuber in an effort to distract himself from the awful news he just shared.

Anakin felt his stomach twist and his heart shudder. The 345th had been Master Mihouri’s squad and while he hadn’t known the Millinar personally, he’d read all of zir reports about various sieges and respected their combat skills – Mihouri was, to date, the only Jedi that he knew of that had faced off with General Grievous and gotten away with all four of zir arm appendices. Almost every other Jedi that faced off with him ended up dead or maimed somehow, so it was an impressive feat. He was looking forward to the next time they were both in temple so he could ask them for a spar.

Guess he’d never get that chance, now.

And then there was Master Mihouri’s padawan, Alura. She was only a little younger than Snips and the last time Anakin had seen her, she’d been in the chambers of healing with a broken arm, telling stories of her battles to a little group of younglings that had all caught the flu. Her hair had been white, making her dark skin stand out brilliantly, and now she was dead.

_~~She was a child, just a child, why was she even **there**?~~ _

“I’m sorry.” He said and wished it was enough.

“Yes, well, I doubt they care much now about your sorry.” Sheev said and took a drink of his wine.

Anakin put more food in his mouth to avoid saying anything else. He was right, of course, and pushing back his return to the front wasn’t helping matters. If he had been out there, would they have died? Would he have been able to help? Would he have been nearby when things started to go sideways, been able to get there in time? Maybe not, but at least if he had been out there he’d know one way or another if there was anything he could have done – but he wasn’t out there. He was here. And he was going to be here for even longer now and what if his actions caused more death?

“Now, as excited as I am about you being able to get your surgery, I have to ask: Is now the best time for such a thing to happen?” Sheev asked. And of course he asked that question almost immediately when it didn’t even occur to Anakin until much later – it’s why Sheev was the Supreme Chancellor and Anakin was just a powerful tool of the Republic. Anakin didn’t think about the bigger picture enough, not like Sheev so clearly did.  

“I won’t be out of commission for long at all, since it’s just the top part. I can do them separately, I found out, so I think it’s a good time since things aren’t so hectic in regards to the war.” Anakin mumbled but even as he said it, he felt like he was asking too much of the Order, of the GAR, of Sheev to let him have this extension. How selfish was he, to use up resources for something so tiny? How selfish was he, to prolong his return to the war when Master Mihouri and Padawan Alura had just _died_ because they didn’t have adequate backup? The entire 345 th legion, wiped out, because no one was around to spare for their siege.

But, he’s always known that fact about himself – he’s selfish, at the core of him. It’s a flaw the Order had seen in him even when he was a child and he had been working on it, but clearly not enough progress had been made. He could take it back, cancel his appointment and tell the Chancellor right now that he was ready to go back to the front as soon as possible – it would be the selfless thing to do, the _Jedi_ thing to do.

He ate more of the pig, chewing on the fat and not tasting it.

“I guess that’s all I can ask of you, my dear.” Sheev said, disappointed, and Anakin felt his eyes burn with it.

He swallowed the overly chewed meat and reached for his glass. His fingernails made a soft ting against the glass – a pretty, brittle sound – and he was so disgusted with himself he had to repeat the motion three times before he could bring himself to take a drink out of it.

“Anakin really, must you do that? Your childish habits aren’t becoming of polite company. Playing with your glasses and utensils was allowable when you were a child, but you’re an adult now and it’s time to stop that nonsense.” Sheev scolded and Anakin nodded, accepting the words as the punishment necessary for his selfishness. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would have to do.

(He only did it three times; three’s a bad number so that will follow him throughout the day. The least he could do was invite bad luck onto him when he’s without the 501st and on his own. He’ll have to tap the light fixtures three times when he comes and goes from freshers just to make sure. He deserves whatever happens because of his invitation of bad luck. Selfishness is the root of evil, after all.)

“The Jedi Council would like to remind you that they’re waiting for your response about the intel from CI. Master Mundi said you’d know what I was talking about.” Anakin said once he was done with his food. Sheev hummed as he finished up his own food.

“Yes, I’m afraid I’ve been rather busy as of late, since the Senate is in active session. I’m still going over it and having my office crunch the numbers for the more elaborate star destroyer design that we were given. It’s looking like the Confederacy might not have the sheer capital to pay for such a weapon, which is good as just the designs look monstrous.” Sheev said easily and wiped at his lips with a napkin afterwards. Anakin twisted his fingers together in his lap uncomfortably.

“I don’t have the security clearance to hear any of that.” He reminded.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, the only reason you don’t have it is because the council doesn’t trust you enough to sign off on my requests for it. You can know these little things, it doesn’t hurt anything.” Sheev scoffed and Anakin hummed in response, not sure what to say. He knew the council didn’t trust him – to be perfectly fair, he didn’t trust them either most times, so why _wouldn’t_ the feeling be mutual – but he wasn’t sure he wanted a higher security clearance like Sheev always advocated for him to have. It was bad enough that his clearance was higher than Padmé’s but he’s not sure how he would handle becoming Level Klaxon – they’d have to bump up Ahsoka’s clearance as well and he didn’t think a fifteen year old should have that high of a security clearance, trained combat specialist or no.

And with Level Klaxon came longer campaigns.

“Supreme Chancellor?” Neerav’s voice called from the embedded comm on Sheev’s desk.

“What is it, dear?” Sheev asked and stood up to walk over to his desk. Anakin gathered their plates and utensils into a neat pile for the serving droid to take back.

“Your next appointment will be here presently.” Neerav said pleasantly and Sheev thanked her. Anakin stood in the center of the room, ringing his hands in front of him.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I wanted a little more time with you but duty calls.” Sheev said and Anakin nodded.

“Thank you for having me over for lunch, I know you’re really busy.” Anakin said and Sheev came forward to hug him. Anakin liked that about the older man, he was so tactile – it was nice to get hugs from someone other than his wife.

“Look at you, all grown up. Why, I remember when you were new to Coruscant and everything was so strange to you. You came from nothing, you were nothing.” Sheev said, reaching out to frame his face gently. Anakin swallowed at the words, knowing their truth.

Anakin remembered well the feeling of displacement. It was like those first few weeks after Watto had bought him and his mother, when they had moved completely and everything was strange. They had their own living space and the shop was so much different than the casino and stables that Anakin was used to.

“Well, you aren’t nothing to me, of course.” Sheev continued kindly and Anakin felt his mouth twist in a smile - he was so lucky to have someone so wonderful in his life. Here he was, the worst kind of person, and Sheev Palpatine still saw value in him.

“Thank you.” Anakin said quietly.

Sheev smiled at him warmly one more time, before releasing him to prepare for his next meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Rian Johnson for giving me such a wonderful line to have Palpatine say to Anakin, since it was manipulative, gaslighty, and abusive AF. Thank you for at least doing that right, you fucking hack. (The salt is real.)


	8. Falling From Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions are had and bad luck shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some words of Anakin's mother tongue which is from my version of Tatooine Slave Culture, which is inspired by Fialleril in parts and different in others. Their language and mine are different, though some words overlap because Fia's got good ideas and I can admit that. Anyway, translations: 
> 
> Amu = mom/mother/parent who birthed you
> 
> O'amlu = elder mothers, they're basically wise women and oftentimes the holders of history. Also, "mother" in this case is more symbolic because not all of them are females or parents.
> 
> Bustin'ta = A ceremonial token made of japor wood with a symbol carved into its face to represent the bond between the living and the dead. It's used as a part of the mourning process, carved after a funeral or a burning of the body and the symbol is usually unique to a family. The Skywalker clan has used a circle with a triangle in the center for at least seven generations. After a period of mourning, usually two years but it's not set in stone, you bury the token in a shallow hole of sand to signify that you are ready to move on from the person you lost. You no longer need the physical reminder of a connection, because you have accepted that they're always with you in spirit, in blood, and in memory.

“Senator Amidala, Knight Skywalker is outside with Senators Organa, Chuchi, and Taneel to see you. They don’t have an appointment and you don’t have anything scheduled for the rest of the day, would you like me to send them in?” Karnus asked as he poked his head into her office.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” She said and he grinned at her as he hurried back out to let in her guests. Karnus was a sweet boy, her only male aide here on Coruscant, and it made her glad to see someone so young work so hard for the betterment of their people. He was just seventeen, but already he had been through so much.

Bail, Riyo, and Terr entered first, Bail in the lead to give her a warm hug, and when he let her go, Riyo gave a simple bow while Terr smiled at her in a familiar kind of welcome. Riyo was young and shy, but hopefully she would grow into herself a little and stop bowing every time they met each other.

As her three colleagues spoke to her, mostly about the state of Judicial and the news that its current head was retiring before the end of their current term and what the implications of that meant for them, she watched Anakin and Karnus greet each other and talk quietly in the corner of her office. She recognized the gesture Karnus used to greet Anakin – he reached up and touched his lips with his thumb pressed against the side of his index finger in a way that looked to an outsider like a nervous tick – but she didn’t remember what the gesture meant. Anakin grinned at the younger man – by all the gods and goddess’ it was hard to imagine that they were just separated by three years – and touched the fingertips of his flesh hand to the base of his throat. She recognized that gesture, it meant the equivalent of “you flatter me” with the connotation that something was more complicated than the person giving the compliment understood.

But what compliment had Karnus given? She always felt like she was missing a vital part of the conversation whenever she watched Anakin and Karnus interacting – Anakin was teaching her Amluka, his mother tongue, as best he could but it was always apparent that she was missing a layer of communication due to the physical shorthand that she only half understood.

Not for the first time, she wished she could ask Karnus for help in learning their language but Anakin always got…weird, for lack of better description, whenever she brought it up. She wondered if it was supposed to be a family thing, the sharing and teaching of language, and she was inadvertently suggesting a faux pas by even suggesting she ask for outside help. But if that were the case, why not just tell her so? 

“Well, enough of that, we really wanted to ask you if you were going to be in attendance for the next fundraiser gala that’s being held soon. Breha is going to come out and she’s been hinting that she’d like to try to coordinate her outfit to yours.” Bail said as the business talk came to an end and Padmé had to bring her full attention back to her colleagues.

“I’m planning on being in attendance, yes, and I’d be delighted to coordinate with Alderaan’s Queen. What about you, are you all going to be in attendance?” Padmé turned the question back and felt genuinely pleased when Riyo said she was going to be in attendance. Terr was going back to her sector after the current session was over and thus would miss the gala, but since the older woman didn’t really enjoy such things anyway it was probably for the better. Bail was, of course, overjoyed to be attending as it would be only the third such occasion he’d had to dance in public with his wife and Breha was planning on staying on hand for a few more weeks afterwards, so he was in very high spirits indeed.

Riyo jumped as her comm dinged with an incoming text alert and when she looked down at it, she pulled a face.

“Well, looks like personal time is up for me. Duty calls.” She sighed in a way that meant the message was most likely a reminder to go back to the bane of everyone’s existence: paperwork.

“I should probably get back to it as well, I have a meeting soon and I should go over my notes one more time.” Bail said and Terr groaned.

“Why would you remind me of that right now, Bail? I was having a good time forgetting about my actual work load.” The woman complained and Bail laughed. Padmé smiled and hoped it didn’t look as strained as it felt.

She still had no idea what she was going to do about the Chancellor, what she _could_ do about him, and it made her feel dirty and complacent. Like she was somehow _helping him_ abuse her husband by not saying anything, by not taking her court inadmissible information and doing something with it anyway. It made her skin crawl and her stomach heave because she knew that she needed a plan; this was too important to just go off halfcocked and if she didn’t do it right she’d do more damage than good.

Bail hugged her again before he left and she felt like the worst type of monster by accepting it. What would he say if he knew the kind of information she was sitting on and doing nothing with?

“Padmé?” Anakin asked quietly, clearly picking up that something was wrong once they were alone.

She took a breath and pushed those thoughts away. She wasn’t doing _nothing_ she was gathering more information. It was necessary. She smiled up at her husband and reached out to hold his hand. He searched her face, frowning as if he could figure out if what was bothering her just by looking at her long enough.

“Did you need anything else, Senator?” Karnus asked quietly and when she glanced at him, he was carefully looking at the wall.

“No, thank you Karnus. You may finish up for the day as well.” She said and he nodded and left.

“I have something to tell you.” Anakin said and he sounded a little worried. She turned back to him and tugged him over to the small couch she had in her office. It was just big enough for them both to sit on. Anakin was quiet for a few more moments after they sat, his thumb brushing against her skin.

“I’m going to have surgery soon. I got an extended medical leave.” Anakin said quietly.

“Oh, Ani, that’s wonderful.” She said and reached out to pull him into her arms. Anakin went as willingly as ever, curling against her and pushing his face into her neck. She had questions, of course, but those weren’t really important. She was happy for him.

“Is it?” Anakin asked quietly and he wrapped his arms around her, snuggling into her embrace. She stroked his back and tried to work out where his head was at.

“Of course it is, as long as it’s what you really want. You do still want this, don’t you?” She asked and made sure not to sound judgmental or accusing. She knew that Anakin absolutely _hated_ his breasts but also knew that he was only somewhat annoyed with his lower half – he’d told her that he’d much rather have an actual dick, but that in the grand scheme of things that wasn’t all that important. Sometimes he had moments where he hated every part of his body, but most of the time he was pretty indifferent to his lower half, which wasn’t strictly healthy from what she’d read but it was hard to get Anakin to accept that he deserved help.

“It’s only the top half and I really, really want to get rid of them, I do, but…I’m needed on the front and I can’t be this selfish to delay my return any more. I want to do this, but maybe I _should_ just wait until after the war is over and do it all at once. I’m a Jedi and people are dying every day that I’m not out there to help out, I know that, but…I want to do this. Does that make me a bad person? I know it makes me a bad Jedi, but I was already that so it’s not as important. Am I a bad person, Padmé?” Anakin asked and he didn’t look up at her, just coiled himself closer as if he could crawl inside her if he tried hard enough.

“No.” She said the moment he was done talking. “You are not being selfish; you’re taking care of yourself. There’s a marked difference. Being selfish would be if you stole a fighter because you liked it and didn’t tell anyone, even when it meant someone was getting in trouble for its misplacement. This is not selfishness – it’s like when you force Ahsoka to rest in the middle of a twenty hour firefight because she’s starting to lag and you have a safe enough place for a group of you to bed down while another group keeps the guns firing. This is a good thing.” She continues firmly, running her fingers through his hair. Artoo whirls his agreement from a corner of the room, giving her a minor shock as she hadn’t seen him come in with Anakin. It was odd that she missed him, he usually made sure to greet her when he came in with Anakin…

Which meant that he _hadn’t_ come in with Anakin. The Supreme Chancellor didn’t allow Artoo into the room whenever Anakin went to visit him, which really should have set off more warning bells in her mind than it had when Anakin had mentioned it to her, but it seemed like such a small quirk at the time – the Chancellor didn’t like it when Padmé used to play music in the throne room when he came to visit her either. It didn’t seem like such a big deal. It was only now, with the horrible knowledge of hindsight, that she realized he didn’t like Artoo coming in with Anakin because he didn’t want there to be an _witnesses_ to whatever he might do or say to Anakin.

She tightened her grip on Anakin, who made a pleased sound and snuggled more into her, totally unaware of her growing horror. Had he already been alone with the Chancellor again? He must have been, why else would Artoo have come into her office separate from Anakin? Anakin didn’t allow anyone else to separate him from his closest friend and Artoo took his duties very seriously – the only way he’d leave Anakin’s side was if he was forced or ordered to by Anakin himself.

Was that why Anakin suddenly had second thoughts about this surgery? He must have only found out it was an option at his last checkup, which had been the day before last, because from what she’d understood he had been told he’d have to wait until after the war to even start the transition process. She had always thought that was something his doctor had told him, but clearly she had been mistaken.

“Sweetling, have you had lunch yet?” Padme asked, her fingers rubbing at the edge of one of his ears.

“Yeah, with the chancellor.” Anakin answered easily and that confirmed it. She could easily see the events play out in her mind’s eye: Anakin going to see his mentor and trusted friend, excited about the news of his first steps towards a full transition, sitting down to eat, and then Sheev Palpatine taking his dreams and crushing them under his heel. Maybe he had spun some nonsense about how Anakin was the most important player on the front lines of the war and therefore by extending his leave, he was deliberately putting his men and the other Jedi in direct danger by not being there. It wouldn’t have sounded like an awful lie designed to make Anakin feel bad, but the end result would have been the same.

How many times had she merely thought that the Chancellor’s over the top praise of Anakin’s battle prowess been something like parental pride? She was proud of Anakin’s skills too, so she never thought much of it when the older man would go out of his way to praise Anakin’s skills to everyone from other senators to journalists to Anakin himself. How many times had she nodded along with him when he said that Anakin was _paramount to the success_ of some battleground or another? Yes, Anakin was very skilled and he had a great ability to inspire both loyalty and trust in his troops, but he was still just one person at the end of the day.

She had never thought to question any other motive behind the Chancellor’s praise of her husband before, but she should have. She knew better than anyone how much Anakin took such things to heart, how he strived to live up to expectations, and the kind of devastation it wrecked on his psyche when he failed to live up to even impossible expectations.

Anakin shifted in her hold, settling against her more firmly, and she bent down to kiss his head. Every time she thought she had a handle on things, the universe conspired against her to show her just how in over her head she was.

“I love you.” Anakin murmured to her and her throat closed up a little because she had never before felt unworthy of his love.

“I love you too, sweetling, and I’m so excited for you.” She said, because it was true even if she didn’t feel like she deserved his love – how many people had failed Anakin Skywalker in his life up to now?

She pressed another kiss to the crown of his head.

* * *

 

“Thank you for coming to see me on such short notice, Captain.” Padmé said as she let the Captain from the 501st into her office.

“Of course, Senator.” The man said with a small grin in the corner of his mouth. She and Rex had meet a few times, usually when things were blowing up or they were getting shot at, so it was nice to see the other man in more peaceful situations. He seemed smaller out of his bulky armor and Padmé wondered if Anakin looked different in armor – she’d never seen him in any, but surely he must wear some kind of armor out there?

“I asked you here because I had some concerns. About Knight Skywalker.” Padmé said carefully, looking at the clone before her for any signs of…she’s not even sure, that she could trust him? She trusted him with her husband every time they shipped off, she trusted him at her back when she needed to, _surely_ he could be trusted with this.

_But, even if he is trustworthy, want can he **do**?_

She swallowed around the thought, the cold truth of it settling in her bones. He may not have the same rights as she did, at that current moment, but he was with Anakin on the front and she knew he cared for him. It wasn’t the same way she cared for Anakin, she knew that, but she also knew that he went out of his way to make sure Anakin was comfortable and safe. He could help her in making sure that Anakin and the Chancellor couldn’t be alone together away from her eyes.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

“I’m sorry, Senator, but I haven’t seen the General in a few days; I thought he was…with others.” Captain Rex said delicately and Padmé would be embarrassed at how clear it was that he knew that she and Anakin were closer than simple friends but she knew he hadn’t told anyone of the...indiscretions…he may have seen.

He cleared his throat nervously, reaching up to rub at the side of his nose, and for a moment Padmé could almost feel Anakin’s hands on her hips, the coolness of a starfighter’s bulkheads against her back, the feel of Anakin’s lips against hers. He’d done that same thing after turning a corner and seeing them wrapped in each other.

She felt her ears heat up but pushed onwards.

“Ah, no, I…I was given a very worrisome holo recently and I was concerned about his safety.” She said and pushed the memories away. The captain frowned in concern and Padmé pulled out the datastick she stored Artoo’s holovideo on to plug into the small projector she had ready on her desk. “It’s…upsetting.” She said lamely before letting the horrible thing play out.

She didn’t watch it again, couldn’t bring herself to see the events play out again, and watched Rex instead. His expressions were open for her to read as they crossed his face – bewilderment faded to concern before something blank settled over him. He clenched his jaw and his fingers twitched in a way she recognized from Eirtaé – the subconscious need to shoot something that was making her righteously angry. He went very still as well, the small shifting of his weight that he usually did when in the presence of someone that wasn’t Anakin or his fellow troopers vanishing as if it had never been there.

The horrible loop captured by Artoo stopped and she took the datastick back, secreting it away in one of the compartments of her sleeves. For a full five seconds, her office was utterly silent as she let Rex work through what he had just seen and she tried to think of a good way to start the conversation she wanted to have with him. Now that the other man was in front of her, she wasn’t sure what she wanted from him exactly. He couldn’t very well ignore a direct order from the chancellor just because she asked him to, it didn’t work that

**CRACK**

She jumped and turned sharply back to her desk, where she found Rex with his hand buried in the small projector. He had clearly punched it, crushing the screen and breaking the top of it open. It sparked around his hand, smoke trailing up from the hole, and before she could think of what to say to _that_ , the other man extracted his hand from it and turned back to her to give her a small bow.

“I apologize; I let my anger get the best of me.” He said gruffly.

“No, it’s…that’s fine. I…I broke my datapad and one of my entry desks when I saw it the first time.” She confessed and it felt good to have him react that strongly to it. This was what she had expected from Obi-Wan, she realized, as Rex straightened and leveled her with a look so cold and hard she felt her heartrate pick up.

“What do you need from me?” He asked plainly. He was standing at attention, she realized, and even though his helmet was not with him, he held his hands in front of him as if he was holding it.

“I need that –” _thing, monster, predator, **dead man walking**_ “I need Anakin to not be alone with him again. He doesn’t…I tried to – to explain –” Her throat closed up around the words; her nose burning. By the goddesses, he hadn’t even seen anything wrong with that behavior, he had _no idea_.

“He doesn’t _know?!_ How could he not understand that – Haar'chak! Of course he doesn’t understand; why would he?” Rex ran a hand over his buzz cut, breathing deep, before he calmed down again.

“What do you mean, ‘why would he know?’ It’s obvious to him that this is wrong, after all he’d skin someone alive if they did even _half_ of that to Ahsoka.” Padmé protested, confused and a little worried. She’s not sure what she would do if someone _else_ tried to accuse Anakin of harming someone in his care like this.

“Just because General Skywalker knows something is wrong in regards to someone else doesn’t mean he realizes it in regards to himself.” Rex said and he was giving her a look of soft pity that made her bristle. She opened her mouth, probably to say something unfortunate, but Rex continued on with a wave of the hand. “Take for instance the way myself and my brothers are treated. He gets so offended if someone calls us mindless drones or implies that we’re all interchangeable, but the moment some big shot from the Outer Rim scoffs once they hear his last name or says something like not needing the opinion of a walking blaster? He doesn’t seem to even _understand_ why that makes us upset on his behalf. I trust him enough to walk through the vacuum of space on his say so, but even I know that he has the self-esteem of drying plaster.”

“People scoff at his name?” She asked in a whisper, taken aback. Rex gave her that same look of gentle pity and she couldn’t even bring herself to bristle at it, the question making it apparent how ignorant she was.

“Skywalker is a well-known slave name, apparently, in the Outer Rim. General Skywalker doesn’t really talk about it, but…that’s what he told us, the first time some Admiral from the territories scoffed at his name and made a truly disgusting joke that I refuse to repeat. It was…a shock – I suppose would be the best word – to find that out about him.” Rex said and she felt her ears flush.

She’d never really thought about the fact that Anakin came from a community of slaves, not really, not deeply to really consider what that might mean. She’d known about his language and customs, known about some of his triggers and the whys of them, of course, but clearly she’d never really considered the implications of such things – how long does it take for a reputation around a name to cement into minds? How many generations of pain, of humiliation, of helpless rage, of lost children and dreams, does that take? How many times will her own sense of entitlement and ego hurt her husband without her even being aware of it?

“Oh, don’t make that face, Senator.” Captain Rex said softly and his arm twitched at his side as if to reach for her. She reached up to run her fingers over her cheeks quickly, pleased to discover that there weren’t any tears, before she cleared her throat.

“We were discussing the chancellor.” She said once she’d gotten ahold of herself. Captain Rex hummed and looked around her office with sharp eyes.

“It’s a little late to ask this, but is your office swept for bugs?” He asked.

“Yes.” She said and left it at that. He turned his sharp gaze to her, searching her face for something, before he nodded in acceptance of her answer.

“I could make it look like an accident.” He said and his voice was even, casual, as if he were greeting her in the hallway. But his eyes were intense and trained on her. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye – the Supreme Chancellor choking on his food, some unknown contaminant having made it into his food; his secretary finding his body when it came time for him to have a meeting or go home; a tragic accident during a senseless time.

She probably could do something like that as well, but it wasn’t how she wanted him to go down. She wanted him in pain, wanted him in _agony_ , wanted his crimes exposed and his corruption rooted out. She wanted his memory to be tarnished; wanted people to hear his name and connect it with pervert, with warmonger, with disgust. She wanted him dead, yes, but she had no desire to see him martyred.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but that wouldn’t work and I think you know that.” She said and Captain Rex sighed, clearly agreeing with her and disliking it as much as she did.

“It’s nice to dream.” Rex muttered and she laughed lightly, because wasn’t that the truth?

She thought about asking him if he knew anything about the Rattail mess but stopped herself before she could say anything – even if he did know something, his testimony wouldn’t mean anything in the senate. The very idea of _why_ that was left her stomach rolling in disgusted anger. Besides, she’s heard all sorts of stories from Anakin about how protective Rex can be of her husband – if Rex had been anywhere near that mess, the Supreme Chancellor would have been jettisoned into space the moment the discussions were over and Anakin was back on a stardestroyer.

This conversation was proof enough of that. So she didn’t bring any of that up and instead asks if Rex would like any tea.

* * *

 

“Gone over the surveillance of the crèche and lower rooms, I have. Found the proof of your concerns, I did; young Knight Skywalker indeed does overclock and hack the systems to give him access to the younglings.” Master Yoda said into the stillness of the council chambers. Obi-Wan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose – he suspected Anakin was doing something like that, but to take those suspicions to the council was the hardest thing he’s ever had to.

“At the least we have a new project for the temple computer technicians to fix.” Depa said dryly and Obi-Wan snorted despite himself. He remembered well the vehement way that particular guild had banned Anakin from even stepping foot into their wing of the temple after he had done something to the mouse droids that lead to them all demanding to be called _names_ of all things before they’d do their duties. It had been a nightmare to track down every one and apparently whatever Anakin had done to their code was enough that they all had to have a hard reset – it was three months before the temple was back to smooth sailings as their limited A.I. had to relearn all the levels of the temple and everyone’s particular cleaning needs and such.

“We’re going to have to talk to the crèche-masters as well – this kind of behavior is going to have to be corrected before it becomes set.” Master Tiin said as he rubbed at the end of his left horn, a nervous tick he developed after the Separatists had held him for a few hours and almost sawed them off.

(Anakin and Ahsoka had been the ones to get the information of where he was held, the ones that had broken through the orbital defenses to allow for his legion to get to him. If not for Anakin being there, if not for his insistence that he wasn’t leaving anyone behind unless they were dead, what would have happened to Saesee Tiin? Obi-Wan’s stomach rolled and he felt, again, as if he were betraying Anakin by coming forward with this – they were all stressed and Anakin hadn’t grown up like they did, it was understandable that he didn’t see the dangers of encouraging attachments in the young and – No, he couldn’t change what he’d done by having second thoughts.

This wasn’t about Anakin. It was about the younglings; Anakin might inadvertently be a danger to them for more than just his heretical ways.)

“This is exactly why we should have just made the boy a crèche-master himself; he’s clearly suited for it.” Master Fisto said, his tone of voice a clear _I told you so_. Obi-Wan groaned (as did many others because _that_ was a fucking nightmare that no one wanted to revisit, thank you very much) but it was Master Kcaj whose voice broke out the loudest as he said:

“We all came to the decision that his attachment problems were too severe to inflict upon the younglings in such a crucial time of their development, and I’ll remind you that you _agreed with us_ in the end, Kit Fisto! And this discovery just proves that we were right in guiding him towards combat and diplomacy as opposed to the crèche. The actual younglings we don’t have to worry so much about, as they all have various other instructors and are able to understand the doctrine we all must operate under, but the infants do not have that understanding. We’re going to have to have the mind healers comb through their fragile minds and break whatever loose attachments they may have formed with Knight Skywalker before they become too strong.”

“Surely that’s overkill – they’re infants, Coleman! We can’t just have people traipsing through their developing minds willy-nilly like that.” Mace objected and Obi-Wan made an agreeing sound – his old friend was right, the mind healers might do more damage than good if they did that.

“Master Kcaj does have a point, Master Windu. As infants, this is the time when their minds are the most malleable but it’s also the point when they’re the most stubborn in small ways – if we allow this attachment to take root, it could solidify into a pillar for them and it would be like damning them to be fallen. And, with an unknown Sith Master out there…it’s too dangerous to try and see if simple distance will break them naturally.” Master Gallia argued softly and she reached up to run the tips of her fingers across the tendrils from her headdress in deep concentration. Or at least, that’s what Obi-Wan was getting from her force presence and her facial expression, but he didn’t know Adi very well to really get an accurate guess at the whys behind her physical tells.

“Masters Gallia and Kcaj are right, Master Windu, the time to correct this is now. They are young and it’s our job as their caretakers to ensure they have the best possible future we can provide to them. Attachment leads to jealousy, jealousy leads to anger, anger to hate, and hate is a direct path to the Dark Side. We are their guardians, it would be irresponsible of us to just let things go as they are and not correct them.” Agen Kolar said deeply, leaning forward and fixing the others in the room with a fierce stare.

“So little faith, have you, in the Force?” Master Yoda asked quietly. The entire room fell silent and Obi-Wan felt shame creep up his spine at the blatant disapproval near radiating off of the oldest member of the order.  “So little faith, have you, in your own teachings? Destined to fall, no one is. A choice, always, it is – to give in or be strong. Bare watching, these younglings will, but no more than the rest. Give guidance, the code does, thus why it was made, yes?” He continued, scolding them all like they were younglings themselves.

Obi-Wan stroked his beard as he thought the problem over – Master Yoda was right, of course, about the code. It _was_ there to guide them and it had done so for generations upon generations of Jedi, from the very beginning, and it was very clear about things. It was drilled into all of them from the moment they could understand loose concepts – the code was there to guide them, the thing that they could and _should_ base their lives on. The younglings in the crèche wouldn’t be lead astray by Anakin because he wasn’t the only influence they had. And the younger ones, the babies and toddlers, would have the code to fall back on once they got older.

“I hear you, Master Yoda, in regards to the crèche aged younglings but the infants don’t have the brain capacity to understand such concepts as the code. And by the time they do, it might be too late to break them of the attachment.” Master Piell said simply. 

“True, that would be, if continue to influence them, Knight Skywalker was allowed.” Master Yoda replied. Master Piell hummed and one of his long ears flicked in thought.

“Almost all of the censors that boy has are in regards to harboring attachments or encouraging them amongst either his peers or the younglings around him.” Ki-Adi-Mundi said softly before he put his oxygen mask back over his mouth. The older man had a good chuck of his throat ripped out by an ill-timed explosion and it was still growing back, thus the need for the mask to filter the air around him. It wouldn’t be good for him to get an infection while he was actively regrowing tissue and muscle.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that we are in a full scale war, I’d say we should take both his padawan _and_ his mentoring duties from him but we simply can’t afford to do that.” Oppo Rancisis said grimly.

“We don’t remove padawans from their masters to punish the master. We take them because it is in the padawan’s best interest.” Mace said disapprovingly. Obi-Wan was thankful that he said something, because what he was going to say wouldn’t have been nearly as polite.

“Correct, Master Windu is. Take Knight Skywalker off the mentoring roster, we shall?” Master Yoda asked, bringing the idea to a vote.

Obi-Wan took a moment to think about it, to consider what the pros and cons of such a thing would be. Anakin wouldn’t be happy with him, but even that was in and of itself a bad sign – he was too attached the younglings as it was and Obi-Wan should have done more to curb those tendencies when the boy was younger. And, this was the best thing for the younglings because Anakin might not be a trustworthy person to have around them – Obi-Wan would like to think that Anakin has never done anything inappropriate with any of them, but since his ideas of what was appropriate were so out of bounds, it was better to be safe.

_(“Anakin would **never** hurt Ahsoka!” Padmé protested loudly, her entire presence a whirl of disgust and outrage. Her faith in Anakin blinding her to the obvious dangers in front of them. How like her, to just dismiss anything that didn’t fit into her idea of who a person was. Obi-Wan pushed those thoughts away and released them into the Force.)_

“I think it would be best to remove him from the rosters.” Obi-Wan said aloud, the first to make a decision as was his right since it was his former padawan they were discussing. His stomach clenched uncomfortably, but he knew this was the right course of action to take.

_~~Forgive me, Anakin.~~ _

“Since we already agreed not to have him be a crèche-master, I think this would be the right course of action to take.” Kit Fitso said and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the almost defensive way he pointed out that he was clearly still holding onto the idea that Anakin would have made a good crèche-master.

It was an almost unanimous agreement from there.

“Taken off the mentoring rosters, Knight Skywalker shall be. Discuss, we shall, any censor this body shall give Knight Skywalker in addition to this?” Master Yoda opened a new discussion.

“I think taking away his mentoring duties is enough for him to get the hint.” Obi-Wan said immediately.

There probably would have been more discussion but at that very moment, the holoprojector spun to life to project the visage of the Supreme Chancellor into the middle of the room. He looked concerned and a little harried, as he usually did whenever he had to interrupt a council meeting. Obi-Wan clenched his jaw and did not think about the fact that this man had put his hands on Anakin. He held his breath and shored up against the well of hate and anger he felt at just seeing the man, gathered the emotions together and balled his hands into fists in his lap as he released it all into the Force.

He was a professional; he was a Jedi Master. Black emotions like that were not a luxury he could afford to indulge in. He wrapped himself in the light, let his shoulders relax and loosened his hands.

It was never a good thing when the Chancellor had to interrupt meetings.

* * *

 

Anakin made sure to step on every third crack in the pedestrian lanes as he walked back to the temple. Artoo rolled next to him, beeping out a nonsensical tune that portrayed that he was pleased to be with Anakin, and it made Anakin feel a little guilty about accumulating all this bad luck. What if it caught onto Artoo as well?

He’s not sure what the levels of sentient have to be for luck to take notice – would Artoo count as sentient enough to come to its notice? Anakin sure thought of Artoo as a sentient being but Obi-wan didn’t, neither did Snips for all that she liked the droid. Did a sentient being have to be mostly organic for luck to take notice?

He wished he could ask his amu or an O'amlu, but there are no grandmothers here and his mother is dead. His throat closes up at the thought, his nose burning, and it’s been almost two years since he lost her, why does it still take him off guard? Missing her wasn’t going to bring her back and he wasn’t allowed to want her, wasn’t allowed to mourn her. Mourning her was selfish, he knew that.

He knew that so why didn’t that make this less painful?

He reached down to his lightsaber, fingering the japor snippet that he kept tied to the end with a piece of thin leather. The circle was soothing and eternal, like his connection to his amu, and he felt his eyes burn a little less. He wasn’t supposed to mourn her, was supposed to let her go, but Padmé had asked him about what he had to do after his amu’s funeral and they had been on Naboo and there had been no Masters. So, he made his Busin'ta and told her what it meant as he carved it from the japor she had bought for him. It hadn’t been right – too wet inside from being imported (japor being wet inside! Naboo truly was a magical place) but it had been all he had. He had carved and sang the rites and Padmé had sat next to him the whole time.

She had asked him to marry her after he was done and he’d been so stunned be could only nod.

His nail caught on an imperfection in the circle and it made him feel better, oddly enough, like a reminder that nothing was perfect. It was alright that he missed his amu, that he was disobeying Obi-Wan and the Jedi, because imperfections made things unique. Sheev always said that the fact that he wasn’t perfect, that he was wrong often, was a sign that he was unique and special. Imperfections made things better, he said, it often increased their value.

_/Anakin, find a place to sit down or a corner, you’re going to have a seizure in about thirty seconds./_ Artoo beeped out and Anakin swallowed. He started to walk to the edge of the lane, towards the buildings with the vague hope of being able to stand against a wall until his fit passed. That usually did the trick when he was out and about.

The smell of blood-wet sage filled his nose as someone bumped into him; the sharp and bitter scent causing his nose to wrinkle. Blood never smelt so metallic to him until he came to the core, it always smelt like sweat, tar, and sometimes ammonia. It used to smell strangely sweet to him, back on Tattooine when everyone didn’t have enough water or nutrients. It wasn’t until he came to the core that it started to take on a metallic, bitter smell and that was what he was smelling now – a metallic, bitter scent wrapped around the sharp, soothing scent of fresh sage just ripped from the wastes.

There was screaming

           

and so much light

 

                                                                                                purple

                                                                                               

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 sliding feet 

                                                                                                                                                

                                                         iiiiiii

 

tttttt

 

 

 

                                                               luckluckluckluckluckluuuuukkkkkkkkkkk

 

                                                                                                rainsandraindsaidnaraidna

 

bloodrol linginthe ears

 

He was on the ground. The ground was hard and cold. The sky wasn’t there, he couldn’t see a sky. There was a droid – blue and white – next to him. He knew that droid. He knew – that was – _he knew that droid_.

“Artoo?” He rasped out, tongue dry against the roof of his mouth. His teeth were getting in the way. There was beeping and clicking and that was a language. He knew that. He – where was he, again?

Artoo – blue and white and the dome could spin all the way around – beeped once at him and he blinked once in return. Artoo whirled twice and Anakin – _I did not name you, that was always your name, my aani_ – clicked his tongue twice.

_/Can you understand me?/_ Artoo asked and Anakin swallowed before he nodded. His teeth were sore in his mouth and his tongue was dry.

_/What planet are you on?/_

“Cor’sant.” Anakin slurred. He ran his tongue across the beds of his teeth, feeling his taste buds scrape against the indents and sharp points. His teeth were still sore and so weird.

/ _Who is the senator of Silcali?/_

“Silcali left and therefore no senator.” Anakin answered sleepily and eased himself up onto his elbows. He was in front of the building he had been headed towards when Artoo had warned him of his impending fit and no one was paying him any attention.

The Force pressed against him for a moment, loud and disoriented, but he pushed it away. He was too tired to listen to the planet’s agonized song.

_/Touch your nose, your bottom lip, and your left ear./_

Anakin did so and eased himself into a proper sitting position. He head spun, but not in the way it usually did after a fit, and he wondered what that meant.

/ _You hit your head when some asshole jarred you. You’re bleeding, but I can’t see any signs of cognitive trauma other than that. I called a transport, it should be here momentarily, and when we get back to your charging port you’re going to see one of your technicians for the hardware damage./_

Artoo must be worried if he wasn’t even bothering to translate his terms to organic ones. He reached up to touch around his head, feeling for – ah, there it was. He blood was thicker than he was used to and it seemed really, really red. Was that normal?

_/The transport is here. Get on it./_ Artoo ordered and he stood up with only minimal wobbling to see that, indeed, there was a small taxi waiting for him. He got in quickly, Artoo rolling after him, and then the ramp came back into the bottom of the taxi and they were off. There was a word for that – the motion of something going back to where it was from originally. He could think of it in his mother tongue, but he was _sure_ there was a word for it in Basic as well.

He hadn’t remembered what it was in Basic by the time they had made it back to the temple. He had remembered it in Huttese, Rodian, and Aqualish but its Basic translation was still escaping him.  He let Artoo press his credit chip onto the payment dock and then they were out of the taxi -

Retracting! That was the word!

“Wow, Artoo was not joking. You really do look like you walked into a blade.” Snips said as she came to a hurried stop in front of him. He frowned at her and tried to remember if Artoo had said anything about contacting her. Ahsoka reached out and grabbed his wrist, towing him along behind her as she marched into the temple proper

“Looks bad?” He asked after a few moments when various people around the temple had given them both mildly alarmed looks as they passed them.

“Head wounds bleed a lot.” She said as they came to the chambers of healing and towed him in like a youngling being dragged into the detention rooms.

“Skywalker, what did you do this time?” Healer Palahosk said as they came forward to shine a light in both his eyes and then tilt his head to the side to get a better look at where the damage was.

“Artoo said he turned too quick and smacked his head against a low bearing wall.” Snips said, sounding amused and worried in equal turns.

“Of course you did.” Healer Palahosk said longsufferingly, their tail catching the light as the healer dropped it carelessly.  

It was a pretty standard treatment after that. Snips waited in the hall as Healer Palahosk cleaned his face up and then poured liquid fire onto the wound before sealing it closed. The bandage applied smelt a little like salt and bacta and itched already, but Anakin just wrinkled his nose and bore with it. Healer Palahosk reached into one of his many pockets and produced a hard candy with a familiar soft yellow wrapper and held it out to him.

He took it and left quickly.

“I cannot believe you ran into a wall, Skyguy!” Snips said immediately, a teasing grin on her face.

“Oh, I guess you don’t want this peach candy then...” Anakin replied, holding up the rather large piece of wrapped hard candy between his thumb and index finger.

“Now, there’s no need to say crazy things, Skyguy.” Snips said and turned big, earnest eyes up at him. He laughed and gave her the candy.

Ahsoka darted forward and hugged him around the middle, squealing just a little, before she darted away again. He grinned down at her, his senses stretching out to make sure no one saw them. The last thing either of them needed was getting a lecture for the dangers of hugging. But there was no one around and he relaxed a little.

“Healer Palahosk said I gotta lie down for a bit to make sure this closes right, so do you want to come with me and catch up on Gossip Gangs?” Anakin asked, already heading towards his rooms. He was exhausted, as he usually was after a fit, but he also didn’t want Snips to feel neglected or unwanted.

“That sounds great.” She said and fell into step beside him. Artoo rolled along behind them, already saying that he was sure Ultiz was going to reveal that ze was pregnant by Thantic and then they would both owe him an oil bath with _the good stuff_. Snips laughed and offered her own opinions on who the other parent was – she thought Koli, which was so wrong Anakin almost stopped right there in the hallway to debate her.

He smiled tiredly as he listened, his chest feeling warm and fuzzy.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for your patience as I was writing this. I'm just bad at regular updates. So, some general info: If you are around someone who has a seizure, please let them rest afterwards they're often really exhausted afterward. Anakin usually has seizures standing up, which is why he was going to just stand against a building during his because he's only partially aware during them. But, someone bumped into him and he fell and cracked his head, not on the ground, but on R2 because he rolled up to break his fall. That's why he didn't have a concussion - Artoo was doing his job of protecting Anakin and making sure he didn't get too hurt! What a good service droid! :D
> 
> Next chapter will have the top transition, but I won't be writing the surgery itself because I'm bad at shit like that so don't worry about having to read any surgery procedures. 
> 
> Also, I have to kill off a clone trooper next chapter so I'm opening up voting to my readers - Who do you choose to die? It can't be Rex because of plot reasons, but everyone else is fair game. Vote now! You can vote in a comment or go to [my tumblr](http://themoosejthm.tumblr.com/) and send me as ask with your choice.


	9. Killer Whale To Sing Me To Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin is recovering from top surgery, some clones start plotting, R2-D2 is more observant than Anakin thought he was, politics is complicated and horrible, and the war continues. (Anakin's top surgery happens offscreen so no worries about any surgery graphicness.)

Ahsoka sipped at her drink as she watched Senat – _Padmé_ tuck in the sides of a blanket around Skyguy. He wasn’t quite asleep yet, still looking around the room a little dazed and his force presence was soft and all over the place from the pain meds, but his eyes kept drooping and he hadn’t said more than a handful of words since he came out of the surgery.

 Artoo was nearby, projecting what looked like one of the systems from the mid-rim in front of him, and it was soothing to look at as the droid took it through various times in its life – the start of the system had a lot of pretty shapes and lines, then he had sped it up to display a few hundred years ago when one of the stars had collapsed (she remembered reading about the missions from that time – it seemed so odd to think that if she were born just a few centuries earlier she could have been responsible for evacuation and relocation efforts instead of war. Strange how the universe works out), then took it back to its early stages as various gasses game together to form planets and stars. It was pretty to look at and a little hypnotic, which seemed to help get Skyguy to a sleepy enough state that it didn’t take long for him to nod off completely.

 “Do you want anything to drink or eat, Snips?” Padmé asked quietly and Ahsoka blinked in her direction, wondering at the soft flutter in her belly at the older woman calling her “Snips”, like Skyguy does.

 “I’m fine, thank you.” She answers instead of thinking more on how much they’re both not supposed to be here. No one had actually told them they had to go back to the temple after the surgery, but she’s almost certain that coming here is breaking some kind of rule.

 Padmé sat down next to Skyguy and brushed his bangs away from his closed eyes, smiling at him in a way that makes her lekku tingle. She looked down at her lap and didn’t think about the way Skyguy hugged Padmé once the door was closed behind them, swaying into her arms like a plant into sunlight. She rubbed her fingernail over the fabric of her leggings and didn’t think about the way Padmé touched Skyguy’s face during a moment that she was certainly not supposed to see.

 She wasn’t stupid, she knew what rules Skyguy was breaking by coming here and not going back home. She knew he was attached to Senator Amidala – she’d have to be blind to miss it – and she knew she should do something about that. It was her duty as his padawan to report any indiscretions to the council, just as it was his duty as her master to teach her the ways of the Force. She was breaking the code by allowing her master to break the code, she knew this, but it didn’t seem like that big a deal. Skyguy was _happy_ with Padmé and they both worked well together – they both put the Republic before whatever it was they might have felt for each other. They put the war before themselves, like they were supposed to, and surly that was the right thing to do? Wasn’t _that_ the definition of following the Rules of Attachment?

 She looked up as she heard fabric move and found that Skyguy had slipped in his slumber to lean against Padmé’s shoulder. The senator was working on something on her pad and it seemed like the most natural thing to her, to have Anakin’s head on her shoulder as she worked. She wondered how many times this very scenario had played out in this room, how many times one of them slept while the other worked, and then she turned away to ignore the visual in front of her.

 The room was homey and she could see signs of Anakin everywhere. One of his work hands – the cheap, simple prosthetics that he swapped out when working on engines or deep space parts – was sitting atop a desk, its fingers cracked in places and the back of it corroded. (He had at least seven scattered around the _Resolute_ and she even had one in her quarters back home, just in case. She’s never been inside Master Obi-Wan’s quarters, but she wouldn’t be surprised to find one of Anakin’s work hands there too.)  On a wall near the hallway leading to the kitchen was a piece of artwork that she vaguely recognized as something Skyguy had been working on a few campaigns back during the hyperspace travel. She wasn’t sure what planet the landscape was from, but the colors were deep and well blended, from what she could tell.

 She turned back to the two humans and Padmé was stroking Skyguy’s hair. She wondered why humans did that, was it comforting? She couldn’t imagine how, but then again the only hair she grew was in her nostrils and it was for keeping foreign particles out of her body so obviously she wouldn’t be able to understand.

 “I’m going to meditate.” Ahsoka said and stood up to head to the bedroom that she sometimes used when she was on protection detail with Skyguy or when it was too late to go back home after a visit. Padmé made an understanding hum and her hand never stopped running through Skyguy’s hair.

 She fled.

* * *

What?” Anakin said, sure that he misheard. He had to have misheard, because what Obi-Wan just said didn’t compute. He wouldn’t have done something like that to Anakin, he _wouldn’t,_ Anakin didn’t do anything wrong recently.

 “The council knows about your overclocking and thus has decided to restrict you from the crèche for encouraging attachment amongst them. Your next lessons have been reassigned and your censor file has been updated. Since you’re still on medical leave and once that is up you’ll be back to the front most likely, there won’t be any punishment but you really have to be more mindful of these things, Anakin. The code is here to protect you; you can’t keep subverting it like this.” Obi-Wan said gently and Anakin hadn’t misheard or misunderstood him.

 “How did they find out that I was overclocking?” Anakin asked, already sure of the answer but needing to hear it for himself. His throat was dry and his shoulder felt heavy under Obi-Wan’s hand.

 “I told them when I found out.” Obi-Wan admitted and he sighed, disappointed. “I’m sorry, Anakin, I’m just…This will help, it will. It’s a bad coping mechanism for you anyway, it draws on your attachment disorder and now that we are aware of the problem, we can help you fix it. I shouldn’t have pushed you so much into crèche duties after you were found unfit to be a crèche master, but I suppose I was trying to help you out, but I ended up hurting you in the long run.”

 Obi-Wan said he was fine with Anakin; hadn’t even hinted that he had done something bad and now the other man pulls this? Why didn’t he just tell Anakin was what wrong so he could fix it instead of pull this? Why would he _do this to him?_ He thought Obi-Wan – he thought –

He’s so stupid. He knows that Obi-Wan is a good Jedi, that he isn’t a fuck up like Anakin is, and he _should have known better_. You don’t tell the masters secrets, they use them against you, he’s known that his whole life and – it’s not the same, he knows that, _it’s not the same_. He’s being silly, he’s being unfair, he’s – he just thought Obi-Wan was at least in his corner.

 “Anakin, I think you should go meditate. Your emotions are spiraling and that’s not helpful for you.” Obi-Wan said gently and his thumb was rubbing circles into his shoulder. Anakin stared at him, his throat closed up and something ugly and black bubbling inside of him. He was acting like he had just told Anakin that he wasn’t allowed to tinker with some mouse droids, something inconsequential, instead of the devastating blow of barring of him from the crèche.

 Just three nights ago, he caught some senior padawan about to _shake_ one of the infants – what if that happened again and he wasn’t there to take the baby from them? Lindali in year three had screaming fits at night that were so bad they had to be restrained sometimes – they always woke up confused and frightened, who would comfort them now that he wasn’t allowed to? What about Santosh and Ben? They were just getting the hang of talking out loud, would anyone else be as patient as they needed them to be? Panck in year seven didn’t understand empathy and often needed extra one-on-one time to get them to not maim any of their year mates during sparring practice; would someone else take the time to get her to understand why not harming the other children was in her best interests or would they just write her off as someone who was most likely going to age out and be put on one of the watch lists? She wasn’t a bad girl, she just didn’t _understand_ that other people were people and not just interesting toys – she just needed extra work and she’d be a wonderful Jedi; she would definitely never break any of the attachment rules and as long as people explained laws and rules to her, she was perfectly able to follow within them.

 “You want me to meditate.” Anakin said, meaning to phrase it as a question but failing, and he took a step back, shrugging off Obi-Wan’s hand.

 “I think you would benefit from it, yes, I can feel your emotions and they’re a mess.” Obi-Wan said and Anakin didn’t want anything to do with this conversation anymore.

 “Fine.” He spat and turned on his heel to leave. He didn’t stop when Obi-Wan called after him and he didn’t go to his chambers or any of the meditation spaces he usually went to. He was so angry and hurt, so confused, and really there was only one place he could go to when feeling like this.

 He just hoped Padmé wasn’t in a meeting or doing something important.

* * *

 She kicked out with both her legs, feeling them connect with something solid as she went flying backwards, thumbing her lightsabers off to do a backflip just before she hit the ground. She turned them back on once her feet were under her again and not a moment too soon as she used them both to block her opponent’s saber. The other masters always said it was a showy move to regain her equilibrium with a flip, but Anakin had taught her multiple ways to make sure that if she was knocked off her feet, she could land in a battle ready position and it hadn’t failed her yet.

  _Your feet are important, but the real thing that should hold you up is the Force, above all. Trust it to act as you need it._ He had told her and it was good advice.

 She shifted her weight and called upon the Force, using it to sweep her opponent’s feet out from under them. As they slipped, she sliced her blades upwards and her opponent fell to the ground with a thump. She pointed one of her blades down, holding it under her opponent’s chin, and smirked when they tapped out.

 “Match goes to Padawan Tano.” Master Zelashiel stated and she turned her sabers off. She held a hand out to help her opponent up – she honestly couldn’t remember their name, they were from a different dorm group than her – but he discarded her offer and heaved himself up on his own. He was annoyed and angry and already a few instructors were giving him disappointed looks.

 “Good match.” She offered, hoping to defuse the situation. She felt the shift in him as she calmed himself down, felt the negative emotions cool and then evaporate into nothing. He did it quickly and out of the corner of her eye she could see Master Mas’kum take an interested step forward.

 The other boy snorted at her and turned away, dismissing her as if _she_ were the one who had displayed unsightly emotions all over the place. She clenched her jaw and smothered her own frustration at his behavior, at his dismissal, and rolled her shoulders as if unconcerned.

 “Padawan Tano, a word.” Master Zelashiel commanded and she eagerly went to stand before zim. Master Zelashiel was notoriously hard to get compliments from and even though it was bad, she did want to get complimented on her hard work every now and again, at least from someone other than Skyguy. He was biased anyway.

 “Your misuse of the Force was unnecessary and shows a lack of understanding of its purpose.” Master Zelashiel said. Ahsoka felt her excitement drop to her toes.

 “I don’t think I misused the Force, Master.” She said quietly. Master Zelashiel tilted their head to the side, their left most eyes narrowing on her.

 “You kicked your opponent’s legs out from underneath him in a duel, solely to feel the rush of winning, along with reaching into the Force to find the strength necessary to hold his saber in your two saber grip without breaking your wrists. Don’t think I didn’t notice that trick.” Master Zelashiel said, clearly unimpressed.

 “I fail to see how that’s misuse of the Force, Master. The objective of a duel is to win without maiming or seriously injuring your opponent, which I did.” She retorted.

 “And winning is the most important thing, is it?” Master Zelashiel asked and Ahsoka knew that trap question. She’d heard it asked of her own master enough times that it no longer baffled or upset her. She knew the right answer now.

 “We are currently involved in a war, Master Zelashiel. Winning means I am there to do my duty to the Republic and prevent further civilian casualties – so, yes, winning is very important for a Jedi Knight.” Ahsoka said and she was certain Anakin wouldn’t mind that she had copied his answer word for word – it was a good answer, after all.

 “Incorrect. Wanting the glory of winning is selfish vanity, as is thinking that a single person – no matter how talented – makes any great difference in galactic affairs. Serving the Force with grace, with mercy, with the tenants of upholding the light and purity of it, should be your goal. Winning is a trick, young padawan, and a slippery slope. You should mediate on why your lust for winning is the most important thing to you.” Master Zelashiel said and turned away, dismissing her.

 She clenched her jaw around the words she could feel welling on her tongue and turned on her heel sharply. There were some other padawans staring at her from the sidelines of the room, judging and assessing her, and she marched out with her spine straight. Hurt pride wasn’t a real wound, but rather a reflection of a flawed away of viewing yourself.

 She thought about the words as she walked, turning them over in her head. She _didn’t_ want to win for the sake of winning – she wanted to win because she wanted to _live_. Was that a bad thing? Wasn’t life precious and to be protected? Wasn’t that one of the doctrines of the Order? All life is precious, including her own, and yes to _fear_ your death is to fundamentally misunderstand the Force and have too much attachment to the material world – but she didn’t fear her death more than was necessary. She feared her death in the same way that all life feared death – it was what kept sentient beings from being overly reckless and tend to their basic necessities.

 That was allowed, it was one of the first things you learned once you got to the Big Kid lessons – as they were affectionately called – that the fear of death was an ever evolving question of the Force. Questions of the Force were the backbone of the philosophy of Jedi Order and one of the basic ones was how much fear of your own death was necessary and allowable. If you didn’t fear your death at all, what was to stop you from hurting yourself? If you feared it too much, what was to stop you from reaching for the Force to try and extend your life? It was an ongoing discussion and everyone had to find their own balance.

 She found herself in front of Skyguy’s door with only a vague memory of walking there. She reached out mentally, searching to see if he was in residence, but she didn’t feel him. She had standing permission to go into his rooms, but if he wasn’t in she might as well just go to her own room.

 “Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asked from behind her. She turned to face him, feeling a little like a naughty child caught out after curfew.

 “Hello Master Kenobi.” She greeted.

 “Looking for Anakin?” He asked and she nodded, caught out. “I do believe he is out at the moment, was there a particular question you had?” He continued.

 “Ah, no, I was just going to have him quiz me on some history stuff. For classes, you know.” She answered and hoped that was vague enough for him to let her off the hook.

 “I’d be more than happy to help you study, as I have an open hour.” Master Kenobi offered and she mentally groaned. Now she _had_ to actually study!

 “I was having some trouble with the Juyo Articles, I keep confusing them with the Articles of War Crimes and I can never remember which senator brought it to a vote and which one wrote it.” She admitted and Master Kenobi signaled for her to walk with him as he reached up to touch his chin hair. He did that when he was thinking and, not for the first time, she wondered if it would be rude of her to ask to touch his chin hair. Skyguy and Senator Amidala always let her play with their head hair, but her sensitivity classes had put an emphasis on how body hair could be considered everything from unhygienic to sacred depending on the human group in question.

 As Master Kenobi began to speak about the circumstances leading up to the Juyo Articles, she tried to think of the most polite way to ask to touch his chin hair – he touched it so often, it really must be soft.

* * *

 He slapped a card down and rearranged the ones in his hand, counting the values up and finding less than he needed. He was screwed if Rangi put down anything higher than an 8. He eyed the man to his right, trying to remember the previous cards he had laid down and counting – if he had got a good hand to start with, his highest card should be a 9; but if he got a shitty hand to start with, he could have a face card.

 He slid his eyes over to the other two men in the circle, both of whom were eyeing their own hand with similar looks of concentration. Cody was pants at this game and last to draw anyway, whereas Slick had a great sabacc face and the kind of luck that Rex could kill to have in a card game.

 Rangi put down a 3 and the sky opened and the sun shown down upon his ravished battleground. Now, as long as the next two cards didn’t add up to – Slick put down a 10 and Rex threw his cards to the table.  

 “Fuck you, Slick, you lucky asshole!” Rex said in defeat. Slick chuckled as Cody put down a queen (this must have been a card set bought by General Skywalker, as the Queen pictured was Queen Natalya of Naboo who, if memory served, was the fourth Queen elected).

 “So, you gonna tell us what’s got your blaster jammed or just let me kick your ass at card games all night long?” Slick asked as Cody tapped out and Rangi valiantly put down a 2.

 “Oh, I thought we were going to ignore that rancor in the room and let him come to us?” Cody asked as he reclined and watched Slick and Rangi eye each other with intense concentration. The game would be over with the next card – if Slick put down anything higher than a 3, he’d loose.

 “I learned something upsetting recently and I’m trying to talk myself out of doing something stupid, I guess.” Rex admitted, finally giving some voice to the vague idea that has been bouncing around his mind. Slick put down a 2 and Rangi threw down his cards with a hiss of annoyance.

 “So, what’s wrong with General Skywalker now?” Slick asked bluntly.

 “Who said anything about the general?” Rex responded, eyebrow arched in what he hoped was enough like General Kenobi’s to get across his suspicion and exasperation in equal measure. Judging by Slick’s deadpan expression, though, it might not be as effective.

 “I haven’t heard anything unusual about our brothers and he’s the only other person you give that much of a shit about, so it has to be about him.” Slick said and Rangi made an agreeing sound.

 “I’m not sure I like what you just implied about me.” Rex said, trying to dance around the actual question. Cody snorted.

 “You’re a clone trooper for the 501st, Rex, it makes sense that you’d care about its general more than any of the other Jedi.” Cody said, trying to be soothing and missing the mark by a wide margin.

 “And of course, what we’re _bred for_ is the only reason we feel anything at all.” Slick said resentfully. Cody shot him a look that had Slick bristling and Rex quickly spoke up before they could get into it. (Again.)

 “I think he’s being hurt by someone higher in command.” He said quietly. The skin on the back of his neck crawled and he had the urge to check their jammer again, just to double check that it was working, which was ridiculous because the damn thing had been built by General Skywalker and programmed by Motherboard. It didn’t break or have lapses.

 “Hurt? Hurt how?” Rangi asked, leaning forward. Rangi hasn’t been a member of the 501st long, had only gotten a name a few months ago and still didn’t have any paint on his armor, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t loyal.

 “Like with Admiral Davip?” Slick asked and Cody frowned, confused.

 “Yeah, only with less suspicion and threats, more direct action.” Rex confirmed grimly. Slick growled while Rangi and Cody looked on in confusion.

 “You’ve seen it yourself?” Slick asked and Rex thought back to the holo Senator Amidala showed him, feeling his fingers twitch and his skin tingle.

 “I saw enough.” He said flatly.

 “What in the Sith Hells are you two talking about?!” Cody finally snapped.

 “Admiral Davip was from the Outer Rim. Skywalker is a well-known name in that part of space, a well-known _slave name_.” Slick bit out. Rangi’s jaw dropped and Cody made a hand gesture for him to continue.

 “He made some comments about it and once tried to put his hands on the General.” Rex explained, unwilling to repeat the vulgarity. Cody’s eyes narrowed in his direction, clearly working something out, and Rex let him.

 “Admiral Davip was KIA before Yularen came aboard, wasn’t he?” Rangi asked, clearly for clarification purposes. Slick nodded while Rex stared Cody down as his closest brother finally looked up at him with an expression that he normally didn’t wear – it looked strange on his normally peaceful face.

 “Tell me I’m not going to have to report you for treason, brother.” Cody said.

 “He’s not making you do shit, brother, if you choose to turn him in that’s on _you_. Don’t try to blame him for you being a traitor.” Slick cut in heatedly.

 “If he’s killed a commanding officer, that’s the _definition_ of being a traitor – or have you forgotten what war we’re actually fighting here?” Cody snapped back. Rangi pressed himself back against his chair, his eyes a little wide, and Rex wondered if he should even attempt to interject or just let them get this out of their system.

 “How could I possibly forget the reason for our enslavement and murder?” Slick asked coldly. Rex closed his eyes and tilted his head back, thankful that they both had the decency to switch to the butchered version of Mando'a that their oldest brothers had clubbed together during generation one.

 “Would you rather not exist at all?” Cody responded.

 “That’s a bullshit argument and you know it; you’re just afraid of admitting the truth!” Slick snarled and Rex stared at the ceiling, wondering how this conversation had gotten so derailed. He wondered what Slick even wanted from these kinds of conversations - they never went anywhere productive because they were both in separate datapads, much less the same page. Slick had come to the realization of their plight back on Kamino, before the war even started, whereas Cody was still coming to terms with the idea that he was allowed to be a sentient being and not a string of numbers.

 Slick didn’t realize what a big step it was that Cody insisted on using his name and Cody didn’t realize how hard it was to realize that the very thing that gave them life was also the thing slowly poisoning them. Neither of them was ready for this conversation, not really, but the fact that it clearly kept coming up meant they were close.

 Slick was clearly the one who kept bringing it up though, so out of the two of them Rex would have to concentrate on him before he tried to act on his thoughts on his own. Would it be too much to just cloak him in 501st blue and watch his face once General Skywalker noticed his presence? Was he being arrogant or naïve in thinking that he could help Slick?

 Was he relying too much on General Skywalker and the havoc of war paperwork? 

 “Rex could be decommissioned if he was found out.” Cody snapped as Rex came back into the conversation.

 “No one would find out if you didn’t rat him out!” Slick retorted and Rex figured this had gone on long enough.

 “I didn’t kill Admiral Davip and I want to break into the Supreme Chancellor’s office to put in a recording device.” Rex said loudly, effectively ending their discussion.

 “Holy shit.” Rangi breathed out. Cody and Slick started at him in various degrees of horror and realization.

 The 501st had one of the highest rates of turnover for clones on paper. They went where the fighting was the worst, so it made sense, but no one ever bothered to look for the bodies attached to those KIA reports. _When Masters have an excess, it’s easier to hide things,_ General Skywalker had said and Rex wasn’t in love, but he could see what Senator Amidala saw in him.

 “You can’t sneak into buildings for shit.” Cody said stiffly.

 “I could manage.” Rex retorted and Slick threw himself into his chair, bending over to bury his face in his hands and mutter a string of expletives.

 “You won’t have to.” Cody said and that was that.

* * *

  He woke up to Sheev stoking his hair, the rings on his fingers tugging slightly at his curls, and for a moment the overwhelming press of the planet, of the room, of the warring sides of the Force screeches at him. He is weighted down, almost drained dry, smothered in darkness and the light is burning his insides, folding outward and burning and then Sheev’s fingers press against his scalp and he is himself again, whole and contained.

  _ ~~His skin crawls, his nails tingle, there is a phantom touch of pressure on his arms, holding him in place~~_ ~~~~

“Did I fall asleep?” He rasped out, going to sit up only to be impeded by the Chancellor not moving his hand.

 “Yes, for a little while. You certainly seemed like you needed a rest, especially after what the council just did to you.” Sheev said and he still sounded upset on Anakin’s behalf, which made his heart warm. He was constantly amazed that Sheev cared so much for him; what could he do to ever make up for that level of care?

 “I knew it was a risk when I decided to do it. I broke the rules; I shouldn’t have expected any other outcome.” Anakin admitted and it always felt like swallowing oil when he had to admit that the council was right at something. He was breaking the rules, he _was_ encouraging attachments among the younglings – he knew that if he was found out, he’d be banned from them. He’s lucky he wasn’t expelled, honestly. If not for the war, that probably would have been the censor to break the file and out on his ass he’d go.

 He tries not to be resentful that it didn’t work out that way.

 “Well, I guess that is a good point…you _are_ the one that put your trust in them, ultimately. Especially Master Kenobi, you did tell me you suspected he knew that you were visiting the children, and this proved you right. I suppose you really don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.” Sheev said and he finally let Anakin sit up.

 “Yeah, I know.” Anakin muttered and he heard Sheev sigh. When he twisted to look back at the older man, he had grabbed a datapad and was pulling out the stylus to work.

 “I wish you wouldn’t lie to yourself so much, dear boy, it really is unbecoming.” Sheev said and Anakin smoothed out the wrinkles in his tunic before he held a hand out for his robe. The garment came into his hand a moment later and he shrugged it on, feeling a little uneasy.

 “You won’t tell the council that I told you about that, will you?” Anakin finally asked and he felt the sharp shock of Sheev’s offense before it smoothed into something gentle and hurt. He hunched his shoulders.

 “No, Anakin, I won’t. Whatever you say to me during our private time is just that – private. I care about you too much to use your secrets against you; I know that’s hard to believe what with the way Master Kenobi treats you, but it’s the truth.” Sheev said and with a rustle of fabric Anakin was turned around and engulfed in a hug.

 He snuggled down into the older man’s shoulder and was able to catch himself before he flinched as the older man’s hands pressed against his lower back, rubbing circles there. He found himself pleased, again, at the lack of breasts between them as they’re pressed pretty tightly against each other.

 He knew that Sheev and Obi-wan didn’t get along and that doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t get along with a lot of people, so it wouldn’t make sense for him to hold that against either of them, but that doesn’t mean he liked hearing either of them badmouth the other so blatantly. He also knew, though, that trying to get either of them to keep their thoughts to themselves was a practice in futility as they both thought they were being helpful in their own ways.

 “Thanks.” Anakin said and pulled away from Sheev, trying not to go too fast as the other man’s fingers trailed across his hips as they separated. The stress from being told that Obi-Wan had sided with the council, _again_ , must have pushed his weird touch aversion to the forefront again. It probably didn’t help that he had missed Padmé by only a few moments earlier.

 He left the Chancellor’s office and collected Artoo from the secretary’s office. His friend whirled a greeting and inquired if they were going to try to see Padmé again, as he wanted to talk to her, so Anakin turned left instead of right to go check if she was out of her committee meeting.

 “Oh, General Skywalker!” Someone called out a few corridors away. Artoo whirled in wordless annoyance and Anakin smothered a grin as he turned to answer. The young arachniliade who was rushing up to him was carrying what looked like at least three holobricks, a handful of disposable datapads, and some plasti-notes.

 “How may I be of assistance?” Anakin asked.

 “My boss, Senator Kugimi, wanted me to inquire about the Clone Personhood Bill since we heard you were in the Senate today. Ze was wondering if you were still looking for sponsorship?” Zhe asked, their thin back arm coming up to shuffle the holobricks around to a more secure hold.

 “We have enough planets to introduce the bill, so we are no longer looking for sponsors. We do however need more planets to sign on as resettlement areas – we have a total of one hundred and fifty bodies that would be ready to accept the GAR after the war as permanent citizens but the army is such a vast legion, we’re always looking for more. I can send the details of such a proposal to their inbox, if you think they’d be interested? The bill won’t come to a vote until next term, so they would have time to bring it back to their planet’s government for approval and a vote.” Anakin explained.

 “Ah, our planet isn’t livable for any person who needs to eat meat to stay healthy.” Zhe said apologetically and Anakin blinked.

 “I…wasn’t aware of that, I’m sorry if that was insensitive.” Anakin said, still reeling from that admission. He knew the arachniliades were vegetarian, but he didn’t know that was because of a lack of any meat on their home planet and not a conscious choice.

 “It’s not insensitive, it’s not common knowledge. We cannot be a settlement for them, but we do have extensive structural damage to various cities around our planet that would need workers – everything from construction workers to architects to mathematicians to planners to food makers, really a little bit of everything, even child care and educators. The damage is so bad that at current estimates it would take at least thirty vargas to complete, which is a little over a hundred standard years, so we would be willing to contract with any of them that would like to work there as day workers. Our nearest three satellite bodies all have meat byproducts and slaughter houses to support any meat eaters that come to assist in our rebuilding.” Zhe explained and Anakin was optimistically excited about that idea. If they offered decent wages and benefits, that could be a great thing to have for the GAR.

 “I would need a little more details, but if it all checks out, we’d love to do that.” Anakin said and Zhe’s top three eyes squinted in happiness.

 “Senator Kugimi drafted a rough proposal for you to look at; I can send it to your inbox when I get back to my office?” They offered and their thicker, shorter arm held out their comm. Anakin grabbed his and held it out, waiting for the lights to blink in indication that the two devices had shared their inbox addressees. “We leave after this session, so if you would like us to offer this as a contracted guaranteed job offer for any members of the GAR that wish to take us up on it, please do get back to us before then. We’ll then take it back to be voted on and ratified on planet.”

 “Thank you so much.” Anakin said and bowed deeply. Zhe clicked their shorter legs in a response and then hurried away.

 “Did you hear that?” Anakin asked Artoo, elated and still a little stunned.

  _/I did. I’ll look over the numbers they send over before I let you look at it, since I have access to the entire Republic’s treasury books. We do need to make sure they’re willing to pay a fair, livable wage to any of them./_ Artoo beeped back, turning and heading towards Padmé’s office once again.

 “You have access to – I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to have those records.” Anakin said, keeping his voice low and hoping like hell that no one was listening. He knew not a lot of people understood binary, but it was the principle of the matter really.

  _/I have the clearance for it and the firewalls protecting that information were pathetic. I updated them after I was done – they’re much safer now./_ Artoo said flippantly.

 “When did you become such a criminal, R2?” Anakin asked, amazed that his little friend had done all that without Anakin noticing.

  _/I’m not a criminal! I updated the Republic’s basic security, if anything that’s part of my fucking job description! I didn’t hack into anything, unlike a certain organic I could mention that regularly downloads hyperspace and jump lanes, even the confidential ones that show where the GAR are moving. You’re welcome for not turning you in, you fucking idiot!/_ Artoo snipped back.

 “Alright, alright, I take your point.” Anakin said, holding his hands up in surrender. He ducked into one of the service corridors, thankful that Artoo followed after him without question. There was just enough room for them to walk next to each other, Anakin’s sleeves brushing the walls.

  _/I know what you do with them, so I do approve of you downloading them, but you have to be more careful./_ Artoo said and Anakin came to an abrupt halt, staring down at the droid in shock.

 “What?” He breathed out, not sure if he wanted to be having this conversation at all.

  _/The runners, you give them the lane maps so they don’t run into either the Separatists or the GAR, don’t you? You can’t help them with the pirates, the bounty hunters, or the Hutt sentinels, but you can make things a little easier for them. If they came across a star destroyer, most of their ships can’t handle that. And they’re technically engaging in illegal activities./_ Artoo whirled, his photoreceptor blinking as if they were just having a normal conversation.

 He took a step forward and turned sharply to kneel in front of Artoo, looking directly into his photoreceptor, knowing that it wasn’t the same as eye contact but that Artoo appreciated it. He hadn’t even been aware that his friend was paying that much attention to what he had been doing whenever he accessed the galactic maps, no one else was, certainly not the Jedi or even Padmé, so he hadn’t thought to be concerned about Artoo noticing.

 “They need those maps, it’s prevented a lot of people from being murdered or resold. And I filter out anything that is actually classified, the only data I give out is data that is available to any Republic citizen that can pay for it and has the right access port, I’m not actually doing anything illegal. Because of their lack of funds, their location, and their status as property they can’t access that information themselves – I’m just evening the playing field.” Anakin explained and put his hand onto the top of Artoo’s dome.

  _/I wasn’t accusing you of anything, you paranoid organic, I’m trying to say that I’m on your side in everything. I’m your friend, you idiot, don’t you know that?/_ Artoo whirled and Anakin threw his arms around the droid, overwhelmed at the sentiment.

 He knew that Artoo looked after him, was programmed to help him through his fits, but he didn’t even think of the little droid going out of his way to make sure that Anakin was doing okay in other ways.

 “You’re my best friend.” He said quietly.

  _/Of course I am./_ Artoo beeped and one of his little extenders came out to tap him lightly on the arm. He stood back up quickly, reaching up to rub at his nose, before they continued on their way.

 Going through the service corridors (and crawling at least once through some vents because Artoo insisted) they got to Padmé’s office in half the time.

 The good news was she was there; the bad news was _she was there_.

* * *

 Padmé almost missed Anakin and Artoo coming into her office, they were both rather quiet and stayed out of the way as she paced around, waving her arms about as she spoke into her headset. Jar Jar and some of his aides darted around with datapads and Karnus had at least one holobrick open on a desk, looking through documents frantically. Someone handed her a pad and she glanced at it, effortlessly breaking in to quote something from it, to the annoyance of the committee she was on a conference comm with.  

 She feels like there should be… _more_ happening. Just…she’s not sure, exactly, what kind of more she wants – more people? More press? More information? More outrage? She doesn’t know, just knows that it’s not enough. Her skin is buzzing, her hair seems to be vibrating down to the roots, and her mind is going at a speed similar to light-speed and she feels like she isn’t doing nearly enough.

 She still can’t bring herself to believe that what just happened had actually occurred – surely she’s having a horrible nightmare, a bad daydream, or someone is playing a cruel trick? Because there would be more… _something_ …if what just happened had actually happened – there would be outrage, there would senate meetings, there would be motions and bills passed, possibly some arrests. No way did an entire section of the senate just throw away a key aspect of democracy, right in front of her, and then send her away like a tantrum throwing toddler.

 “There must be more we can do! The Ethics Committee –” She’s cut off as someone on the other line interjects that the Ethics Committee needs at least half of the body to agree to pursue anything and that they just came from a group that had at least half of said committee in it. She growls in frustration as others interject that maybe the best option would be to go to the press and hope for enough public outcry that something had to be done.

 “If we get enough people talking about it, we might be able to force a vote on it and once it’s actually thrown out, maybe we can get some answers out of the Supreme Chancellor for what in the name of everything holy he thought he was doing.” Senator Choli said. Padmé clicked her tongue.

 “And how long would that take? Another session? That’s half the year; we can’t afford to let this sit for that long! This is a direct attack on our democracy; we must act _now_ to prevent further corruption from taking root.” She said vehemently, which set off more arguing and bickering.

 It was as if she was screaming into an abyss.

 “I was not appointed to my position to stand by while the Republic becomes a dictatorship!” She finally snapped, once Senator Organa had managed to get everyone to at least stop talking over each other.

 “Oh, don’t be so hysterical, we’re hardly at that level yet!” Someone – she honestly couldn’t tell who – snapped back and she sputtered in sheer rage before finally deciding that this group was clearly not going to do anything and hung up. She flung the headpiece away from her and whirled around to address her staff.

 “Cancel all my meetings for the rest of the day and get me a meeting with Queen Neeyutnee, I need to ask her about the stance that Naboo plans to take on this. It’s imperative that I speak with her as soon as possible, tell her it’s a matter of galactic importance.” She ordered and she still felt jittery and angry, like she should be doing something physical to try and stop this from happening. It left her off balance that there wasn’t anything else she _could_ do at this point.

 Democracy wasn’t a single player game, after all.

  ~~Though sometimes she could see the appeal – after all, how had Ani put it, all those years ago? One person could just **make** everyone do their jobs and do the right thing? If only things were so simple. ~~

 “Issa go to talk to da bosses; Ika’lain Amailasye!” Jar Jar said, slipping into his native tongue from frustration as he stomped out of the room, his aides hurrying after him. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she watched her own aides scramble around the room, some of them still consulting various datapads, holobricks, and even holding a few older hand-comms to their ears as they spoke into them.

 Anakin and Artoo were in a corner, out of the way, Artoo plugged in and projecting something for Karnus. Her only male aide was talking to Anakin softly, his hands moving through a few phrases she recognized – frustration, against a cliff side, down in the wastes – and she wondered how much of the situation was being explained to her husband as she stood here, helpless and useless.

 “My lady, the Queen will meet with you in two standard hours. I’m afraid that’s the earliest she can arrange.” Sailé said apologetically, her jaw clenched. Padmé nodded at the other woman and took a deep breath, gathering all her restless energy and anger and holding it in the back of her throat for a long moment, before she breathed it all out in a long exhale. 

 “Okay, everyone, take a break. Just…go have lunch or something and don’t come back for an hour and a half. There’s nothing we can do until we get word from the Queen.” She said and waited as her office slowly emptied.

 “What’s happening, Karnus didn’t really tell me the details.” Anakin said as she threw herself onto the couch, needing the soft comfort more than her normal chair.

 “I located the treaty that Palpatine wrote up regarding Rattail and brought it before the oversight committee because getting it ratified the way he did was _illegal_. It’s an impeachable offense and everyone in that room knew it; I even read out the part of the bylaws he broke, and they are going to do _nothing_. They told me to my face that they weren’t going to pursue any kind of action against him, just sit on their asses and pretend that letting this happen isn’t the beginning of the end.” Padmé explained, feeling the anger come back to simmer just under her skin. How could the Traditionalists let this happen?

 “So, in other words, it’s business as usual only now it’s going to affect the Core and Mid Worlds so now you’re upset about it?” Anakin asked in a cool voice that he usually used when asking rhetorical questions of the Jedi Council over comms that she wasn’t supposed to listen to. She stared at him in utter shock, not at all used to having that tone leveled at her.

 “ _Excuse me?_ ” She snapped back, finding her voice quickly. Artoo whirled apprehensively and tried to roll in between them, but Anakin moved him out of the way with his leg. (And probably also used the force, because while Anakin’s legs were very impressive Artoo weighed quite a bit.)

 “It’s hardly been the first time a Supreme Chancellor has written a new treaty with a planet, got it notarized, and filed into the servers. It’s not even the first time that _this_ Supreme Chancellor has done it – there have been three new treaties with the Hutts just since the war started – and no one cared about those! Where was this righteous anger when the Loyalists allowed for new pro-smuggling laws to be bundled with last term’s hyperspace spending bill? That allowed for slaves to be brought directly into the heart of the Republic! _That’s_ illegal too, you know. Where was this anger and want for justice during all the times when the Senate was passing bills and motions to allow the GAR to be used as cannon fodder, to be regarded as _sentient property_ , which also gave a legal foothold to the slave traders in the outer rim?! Face it, Padmé, you’re not upset that Sheev broke the law you’re upset that his actions might have negative effects on the Core and Mid Worlds!” Anakin shouted at her and Padmé was momentarily stunned.

 Anakin so seldom ever lost his temper _at_ her that she often forgot what it was like to have him raise his voice at her instead of simply around her. She was a little pleased that he _was_ yelling at her, just as a reminder that for all that he said things like _you’re the center of my galaxy, the sun I orbit around_ that he didn’t truly hold her on such a high pedestal. It was a strange kind of comfort, especially since she also kind of wanted to scream at him for even suggesting that she didn’t care about those things. That she was just upset because this had a direct impact on her and her homeworld and not because it was the worst kind of corruption.

 “I care about his actions because we’re a democratic republic! And don’t even try to get on me about the GAR; you know I’m doing everything I can to help you get the Clone Personhood Bill ready for a vote! And, as much as I may not agree with the decision, the senate _voted_ on that spending bill and you _know_ I gave speeches about the very provision you’re complaining about! I used your talking points in my damn speech, you fucking recorded it! As for the Hutt treaties, you know that falls under the emergency wartime powers – _the emergency powers that the Chancellor has that **are illegal**!! _ I would have voted against him gaining those emergency powers, but I couldn’t because I was being hidden away because of threats against my life!” Padmé shouted back, glad that her office had soundproofing because the last thing she needed was rumors getting out about her and Anakin having a shouting match.

 “And yet, not once have you ever gotten this upset about any of those things. You’re actually considering going to the media, regardless of what your fellow senators think, regardless of what Queen Neeyutnee tells you, I can tell that much. You came in here like a storm cloud, righteously upset because for once in your career, people won’t listen to you when you tell them something is happening, something immoral and wrong and _against the rules_ , but they don’t care because they’re all blinded by the same shit that has always blinded them. And this is the first time that kind of thinking has been used against you or your interests.” Anakin said and he wasn’t yelling at her, but he might as well have slapped her.

 “I would think that my actions would speak for themselves. I care _plenty_ about the rights of the oppressed and I would have thought that you of all people would understand me enough to –”

  “I understand you perfectly well, Padmé, I’ve always understood this about you. You can’t help it, you’re practically a core worlder since Naboo is so important to the Republic; I just wish you wouldn’t blind yourself to the problems around you because they aren’t _yours_!” Anakin cut her off and his voice cracked around his upset. She swallowed around her first few words – ugly things that wouldn’t get this conversation anywhere productive – and felt her hands curl into fists at her side.

 His comm chimed, loud in the tense silence. Anakin grabbed it and thumbed it open, pressing the speaker button; he was still staring at her intently, anger making his shoulders curl inward and his spine hunch.  

 “Knight Skywalker, you and Padawan Tano have been given leave to return to active combat. A mission briefing will be held in twenty minutes, in the council chambers. Padawan Tano may finish her last exam during the briefing, as her clearance is not high enough for all the details of this upcoming mission.” Someone – perhaps one of the council members, but she honestly couldn’t tell – said quickly and then hung up. Anakin stared at the comm and it was clear he wanted to throw it across the room.   

 He stuffed it back into his pocket and Padmé felt her anger and hurt leave her, the sensation not unlike coming up for air after being underwater for too long. She felt tired and not a little frightened around the edges – what if he left and never came back? What if he _died_ out there, saving Ahsoka and his men from some awful fate and the last thing they spoke about was something as stupid as this? What if something happened to him and he was hurt? What if he was captured?

 She took the few steps needed to breach the distance between them and threw her arms around him, pulling him close until he was curled around her, his face buried in her hair and his arms tight around her waist. He must have been thinking something similar to her; it was clear from the way he was clinging to her.

 She could ask him to stay. She could ask him to leave the order, leave the war, stay with her and finish this argument, could ask him to do anything and he’s do it. She clenched her fingers in his shirt, pulling him deeper into her arms, pressed so close it was almost unbearable. She could ask him to stay, with her, to never leave her side ever again and he would do it. He’d do it gladly.

 “Please be safe.” She said, the words burning her tongue as she spoke them. She wanted to demand he stay with her, finish their argument, but she’d never make him choose between her and the Order.

 (She knew it wasn’t a choice – if she asked it of him, he’d do it in a heartbeat. It wasn’t a question of her thinking he wouldn’t do anything she asked, rather the opposite – the amount of power she held over him was uneven and it frightened her as much as it thrilled her.

 But those were thoughts to be had at a later date, when Anakin wasn’t about to go off to war and death and destruction.)

 “I have to go.” Anakin said into her hair and reluctantly pulled away from her. “I’ll be careful, you know I always am, and I’ll keep an eye on Snips too.” He continued and leaned down to brush a kiss against her forehead.

 And then he and R2 swept out of the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After looking at this chapter for way too fucking long, I'm flinging it into the abyss and letting you all have it as is because I just can't stare at it anymore. Also, if you catch the Dollhouse reference, do tell me!


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